Chapter 5

Eleanor Knight stepped out of the spa, squinting against the afternoon sun. She glanced at her Rolex—3:00 PM sharp.

“To Sinclair Group,” she instructed the driver.

On the back seat lay an emerald jewelry box, its surface glistening under the sunlight, reminiscent of the joy she’d felt when she first received the heirloom.

At the Sinclair Group headquarters, the security guard bowed the moment he saw her. The elevator took her straight to the top floor, but the secretary’s desk was empty.

“Mr. Sinclair is in the conference room,” a passing assistant whispered.

Eleanor pushed open the CEO’s office door—and froze.

Isabella Whitlock stood before the mirror, wearing the jeweled tiara. Startled by the intrusion, she fumbled, nearly dropping it.

“M-Mrs. Sinclair!” she stammered, hastily removing the tiara. A thin cut bloomed on her finger where the sharp edge had nicked her.

Eleanor smirked. “Nice performance.”

She reached for the tiara, but Isabella suddenly tightened her grip. As they struggled, the office door swung open.

“Eleanor?” Sebastian Sinclair strode in, his gaze flickering between them.

Isabella’s eyes instantly welled up. “Mr. Sinclair, I was just inspecting the gift for you—”

“On your head?” Eleanor cut her off, yanking the tiara away. The gems refracted the sunlight, casting harsh glares that stung her eyes.

Sebastian frowned. “Enough. Isabella, leave.”

Once the door clicked shut, he moved to pull Eleanor into an embrace. “Mom and Dad specially bought this from Paris. Do you like it?”

She sidestepped him. “Sebastian, we need to talk.”

“If this is about the divorce—”

“Twenty-seven days left in the cooling-off period,” she interrupted. “Make sure your paperwork is ready.”

His face darkened. “You’re serious?”

Eleanor placed the tiara back into its velvet case and snapped the lid shut. “Dead serious.”

As she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist. “Is this because I got Isabella a gift too?”

“Because your love is cheap,” she said, prying his fingers off one by one. “Like plastic bags at a wholesale market—handed out to anyone.”

The resolve in her eyes cut deep. “What will it take for you to forgive me?”

“Transfer Isabella to a branch office.”

“Impossible! She’s handling a crucial project—”

Eleanor laughed. “Then we have nothing left to discuss.”

As the elevator doors closed, she heard something heavy crash inside the office. The tiara weighed heavily in her bag, like the heart she’d once laid bare.

Her phone buzzed. A bank notification: $20,000,000 deposited into your personal account.

The memo read: Birthday gift.

With a scoff, Eleanor opened her divorce lawyer’s chat. “Trace the source of this money.”