The ink on the divorce papers had not even dried when Logan let out a sharp laugh and tossed a black Amex card onto the polished mahogany table.
“Take it, Scarlett. That is enough to rent a tiny place somewhere cheap for a month, so think of it as payment for two wasted years,” he said with a smirk that carried no trace of regret.
From the corner of the room, his girlfriend Brittany giggled under her breath while scrolling through design photos on her phone, already imagining how she would redecorate Logan’s penthouse in downtown Chicago, Illinois.
They thought Scarlett was just a nobody with nowhere to go and no one to rely on when things fell apart. They believed she was scared, fragile, and easy to dismiss without consequence.
They did not notice the man in the charcoal suit sitting quietly at the back of the conference room, watching everything with calm, measured attention. They had no idea that he was Gregory Langston, the owner of the entire building and a powerful figure in the financial world.
And they definitely did not realize that signing those papers had just cost Logan everything he believed he controlled.
The conference room at Brighton & Wells Corporation smelled faintly of leather, stale coffee, and the quiet tension that always lingered when something important was ending. It sat high above the skyline of Chicago, where rain streaked across the tall glass windows and blurred the city lights into soft gray patterns.
