I never told my ex-husband or his wealthy, arrogant family that I was, in secret, the owner of the multi-billion-dollar corporation where all of them worked. To them, I was nothing more than "the poor pregnant girl who lived like a burden," someone they tolerated only because they felt obligated to.

The double doors of the Morrison estate didn't just open; they were effectively removed from their hinges by the sheer momentum of four tactical security officers in tailored, slate-grey Kevlar suits. Leading them was Marcus Vance, a man whose official title was Head of Global Asset Protection for Sovereign Group, but whose actual job was acting as the personal shield for the most powerful CEO in the tech and logistics sector.

Brendan Morrison stood up so fast his mahogany chair scraped violently against the polished hardwood. "What is the meaning of this? This is private property! Marcus? Why the hell are you here with corporate security? I’m the Regional Director of Marketing!"

Marcus didn't even look at Brendan. He marched past the dining table, his polished combat boots leaving dark, wet tracks on the Persian rug. He stopped exactly two inches from my chair, snapped his heels together, and bowed at a precise forty-five-degree angle.

"Chairwoman Cassidy," Marcus said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings like a marble slab dropping onto concrete. "The perimeter is secure. Advanced medical staff are waiting outside in a mobile clinic to assess you and the heir. Arthur is currently freezing all corporate-linked accounts. We await your command."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Diane Morrison’s wine glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the crystal bowl in the center of the table. The expensive Bordeaux wine splattered across Jessica’s pale pink dress, but the girl didn't even scream. She was staring at me, her mouth hanging open so wide her jaw looked unhinged.

"Chairwoman...?" Brendan whispered, his face turning a sickly, mottled shade of grey. "No. No, that’s impossible. Cassidy is a charity case. Her father was a mechanic. She... she works in the archiving pool!"

I slowly stood up, the filthy, ice-cold water from Diane’s bucket making my skin prickle, but I didn't shiver anymore. The baby inside me gave another solid kick, as if she, too, knew the matrix had just broken. I took the linen napkin from my lap—the one Diane had told me was too expensive for my greasy hands—and calmly wiped the dirty water from my eyes.

"The archiving pool, Brendan," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion, "is where Sovereign Group keeps the hard copies of our proprietary patents. I spent six months there because our internal security detail flagged a leak in the intellectual property sector. I wanted to see exactly how much your department was stealing from the mother company."

"Cassidy, darling," Diane stammered, her voice suddenly climbing three octaves as she tried to scramble to her feet. "This... this is a misunderstanding. The water... it was a joke! A traditional Morrison family prank! We were just trying to make you feel welcome, to break the ice!"

"You broke the ice, Diane," I said, looking down at the puddle around my ruined shoes. "And now you’re going to drown in it."

I turned to Marcus. "Where is the transition team?"