---- Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Aimee Ramirez POV: | watched from my office window as two security guards escorted Kyle from the building. He wasn't fighting anymore. He looked dazed, shell-shocked, a king unceremoniously deposed and cast out of his own castle. Karma trailed behind him, her face a blotchy mask of tears and ruined makeup, her performance of the wronged woman having failed its most important audience. They paused on the sidewalk below. | saw Karma gesturing wildly, her voice, even from forty floors up, carrying the shrill tone of accusation. He just stood there, his shoulders slumped, not even looking at her. Then he turned, his head tilting up as if he could feel my eyes on him. Our gazes met across the vast distance of glass and steel. His face was a canvas of disbelief and dawning horror. Then he was gone, swallowed by the evening crowds. The silence that descended in the office was absolute. The war was over. | had won. | felt a strange sense of dislocation, the way a soldier must feel when the gunfire finally stops. The adrenaline drained away, leaving behind a profound, hollow exhaustion. Clara appeared at my door. "Your accounts have been ---- consolidated. You now have controlling interest. What are your first orders, Ms. Ramirez?" Ms. Ramirez. Not Mrs. Lopez. The name felt like shrugging off a heavy, ill-fitting coat. "Cancel Kyle's corporate credit cards and access to all company accounts. Effective immediately,' | said, my voice steady. "And have a locksmith meet me at the penthouse. | want the locks changed tonight." "And... Ms. Wells?" Clara asked delicately. "Terminate her employment. Standard severance. Have her sign an NDA so tight it will suffocate her," | said. "And senda recommendation from her 'personal file' to every major tech firm in the country. Let them know she's a high-risk asset with a history of... fraternization." | would not destroy her, but | would make sure she never worked in this industry again. Her currency-her youth and beauty-would be worthless without a powerful man to back it. The penthouse felt alien, a cold museum of a dead life. The half-eaten anniversary dinner was still on the table, a grotesque monument to my own foolishness. | swept the plates, the glasses, the dead flowers into a trash bag with a satisfying crash. | moved through the apartment, purging it of him. His clothes, his books, his ridiculously expensive collection of watches-all went into bags for donation. | was erasing him, methodically and mercilessly. ---- In his study, | found what | was looking for: a small, locked safe hidden behind a painting. It was where he kept his most private documents. | had programmed the security system myself years ago. His code was our original anniversary. Pathetic. Mine was the launch date of our first successful algorithm. Inside was a folder. It wasn't business. It was filled with letters. Love letters. From me. Written years ago, in the early, hopeful days of our marriage. Full of declarations of undying love and admiration for the brilliant, ambitious man | thought he was. He had kept them. All of them. For a moment, a flicker of the old Aimee, the one who loved him, stirred within me. A pang of something that felt dangerously like pity. | slammed the safe door shut. Pity was a weakness | could no longer afford. The locksmith finished his work. As he was leaving, he handed me a small, elegant box. "A courier dropped this off for you, ma'am. Said it was urgent." | opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was a single, perfect white orchid-my favorite flower-and a small, handwritten note. Heard there was a change in management. Congratulations. ---- | think this calls for a celebratory dinner. - A.H. Anderson Hernandez. CEO of our biggest competitor, and the one man in the industry whose intellect | considered a match for my own. We had been professional rivals for years, a relationship of mutual respect and sharp-edged competition. A slow smile spread across my face. Kyle thought he was my only equal. He never even saw the real players on the board. | picked up my phone and sent a text. Tomorrow night. My choice of restaurant. His reply was instantaneous. I'll be there. | walked out onto the balcony, the cool night air a balm on my skin. The city glittered below, a carpet of diamonds laid at my feet. It was my city now. My company. My life. And for the first time, | felt the exhilarating, terrifying thrill of absolute freedom