“After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built. Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant. She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday. Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite. Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him. The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note. "Good Job." For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM. With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work. She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal. But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President. Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train. "You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.”