I walked into my husband’s workplace on Valentine’s Day holding a romantic gift, only to see him proposing to his wealthy female boss while the staff cheered. He smirked at me, whispering, “You’re just a poor housewife, accept it.” I didn’t cry. I simply pulled out my phone, dialed the company’s majority shareholder, and whispered into the speaker…

promise.

But when the elevator doors parted silently on the fifty-fifth floor of Sterling & Cross, a deafening roar of applause washed over the marble foyer.

For a single, naive heartbeat, I assumed Julian had intercepted my itinerary. I thought, perhaps, he had orchestrated a counter-surprise to celebrate my return to the firm after my six-week continue reading …