I hadn't spoken to Callum Blackwood since the night before my wedding to Rowan. That night, Callum had shown up at my parents' house with a folder and a look on his face I'd never seen before — raw, unguarded, almost desperate. "Don't marry him, Elara." He'd said it simply, like he was stating a fact rather than making a plea. I'd laughed it off. "You've never even met him properly, Cal. You're being overprotective." "I'm being honest." He set the folder down on the table. "I had my team look into him. He's drowning in debt. His family's business is failing. He's not marrying you — he's marrying your net worth." I'd pushed the folder back without opening it. "I love him. That's enough." Callum had stared at me for a long time, his jaw tight. Then, he pulled out a document — an equity transfer for a shell company worth fifty million dollars, set up entirely in my name. "If he ever hurts you," Callum said quietly, "this is your safety net. You won't need anyone's permission to walk away." I'd refused to take it. I told him he was overthinking. I told him Rowan was a good man. Callum had just nodded slowly, slipped the document back into his jacket, and said, "The offer doesn't expire, Elara. Neither does anything else I've ever offered you." He left that night, and I didn't hear from him again. Not when Rowan took over managing my company's finances "to help lighten my load." Not when Rowan's parents moved into our home and started treating me like hired help. Not when I spent Christmas alone because Rowan was on yet another "business trip." For six years, Callum Blackwood was a ghost. A memory I kept locked in a drawer I never opened. But now, sitting in the back of my Maybach with divorce papers still warm in my bag, I read his message again. *"I heard. I'm coming."* Three dots appeared, then another message: *"Don't do anything satisfying without me."* Despite everything, I actually laughed. My phone rang immediately — Margot. "Ma'am, we have a situation. Rowan Thatcher just sent a company-wide email to Thatcher Group announcing that he's 'entering a new chapter' and will be 'pursuing major partnerships to grow the brand.' He also tagged Pinnacle Group in a public LinkedIn post calling you — and I quote — 'a strategic target for Q4.'" "He tagged us?" "Publicly. With a heart emoji." I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. Rowan had no idea who ran Pinnacle. The company was structured through a trust, and I'd kept my identity as founder completely hidden. To the outside world, Pinnacle's CEO was a mysterious figure who never made public appearances. "Margot, schedule a board meeting for tomorrow. And pull Thatcher Group's full financial records. I want to know exactly how deep a hole Rowan has dug for himself." "Already on it. Also — Callum Blackwood's office called. He's requesting a private meeting with you. Tomorrow evening." My pulse quickened, but I kept my voice steady. "Tell him I'll think about it." "He said you'd say that. He also said — and I'm quoting directly — 'Tell her I'll be at her favorite restaurant at seven regardless. She can stand me up if she wants. I've waited six years. What's one more night?'" I hung up without responding. But I already knew I wouldn't stand him up.