Eleanor's POV
The coffee had gone cold two hours ago.
Eleanor stared at the economics textbook open on her lap, the words blurring together into meaningless shapes. Outside her tiny Oxford apartment window, it was raining that particular kind of English rain that felt less like weather and more like punishment. Fitting, she thought.
She'd read the same paragraph seven times and still couldn't tell you what it said.
Her phone buzzed on the table beside her empty mug. Then buzzed again. Then again. Eleanor ignored it. Ignored emails. Ignored the world. This was her life now. Textbooks, cold coffee, and a small studio apartment that smelled like desperation and old takeaway containers. Two years of it. Two years of pretending it was worth it.
Two years since she'd signed the divorce papers.
Her phone rang. Not buzzed. Rang. An actual call. Nobody called anymore. Eleanor jumped like the phone had shocked her. She almost didn't answer. Almost let it go to voicemail. But something made her pick it up.
"Hello," she said, her voice rough from hours of silence.
"Eleanor Wells?" The voice on the other end was pure authority. Older. Female. Someone who didn't ask questions because she already knew the answers. "This is Victoria Hayes from Sinclair Group. I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time."
Eleanor's stomach dropped. Sinclair Group. The investment firm that owned... no. She wasn't going to think about what they owned. Wasn't going to connect the dots. She sat up straighter anyway, suddenly aware of how she looked. Sweatpants. Unwashed hair. Like a ghost haunting her own apartment.
"I haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?" Victoria's tone suggested she didn't particularly care either way.
"No. I'm available." Eleanor's brain scrambled to figure out why Sinclair Group would be calling her. She wasn't important enough to be on their radar. She was nobody. MBA student. Divorced woman trying to rebuild from ashes.
"Good. I'll be direct because that's how I work. We're looking for a new CEO for Sinclair Group. Someone to shake things up. Someone brilliant and hungry and tired of being invisible." Victoria paused. "Our headhunter suggested you. Said you were ruthless in a way that most people don't understand yet."
Eleanor's mouth went dry.
"I know your background," Victoria continued. "Event planner turned corporate strategist. MBA from Oxford. Excellent marks. Better references. You've been very quiet for two years, which actually impresses me more than if you'd been making noise. It suggests strategy over ego."
Eleanor wanted to hang up. Wanted to laugh. Wanted to ask what kind of cruel joke this was.
"I want you to be my CEO," Victoria said simply. "You'll have complete control over restructuring. You'll answer directly to the board, which means you'll answer to me. The position starts in two weeks. Salary is two million annually, plus bonuses based on quarterly performance. Headquartered in London."
London.
The word hit Eleanor like ice water. She stopped breathing for a moment.
"I know that might be complicated for you," Victoria said, and there was something knowing in her voice. Something that suggested she knew exactly why London would be complicated. "Your brother Marcus works as a corporate attorney there. I imagine you have... other history in the city. But the best opportunities rarely come without complications."
Eleanor's hands were shaking now. She gripped the phone harder, afraid she'd drop it.
"I'm not interested in your decision right now," Victoria said. "You don't know enough to decide. But I'm sending you a package of documents. Read them. Look at the company. Then call me back in forty-eight hours and tell me if you're brave enough for what I'm offering." Victoria paused. "The woman I need would be."
She hung up before Eleanor could respond.
Eleanor sat frozen, the phone still against her ear, listening to the dial tone like it was the only honest thing in the world. Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, her small apartment suddenly felt even smaller.
Two weeks.
London.
Him.
Because of course he was there. Harrison Blake. Built Blake Dynamics into a five-billion-dollar company. Probably had a penthouse in Mayfair by now. Probably had forgotten she existed entirely. She'd made sure he had plenty of reasons to. Signed the papers cleanly. Didn't fight. Didn't cry where he could see it. Just walked out of his penthouse and their marriage and their entire shared life like she was simply leaving a room.
He'd let her go without even trying to stop her.
That had been the final thing that broke her. Not that he'd chosen his company over her. That he'd done it so easily. So completely. Like she was something he'd set down and forgotten about while reaching for something shinier.
Eleanor stood up, suddenly restless. She walked to the tiny window and pressed her forehead against the cold glass. She could do this. She could go back to London. Could walk past the places they'd been together. Could avoid him if she needed to. Could build something so impressive, so undeniable, that she wouldn't care if he noticed her or not.
Could she?
Her phone buzzed. An email notification. Victoria Hayes's package had arrived in her inbox. Eleanor downloaded it with trembling fingers. The document was thick. Comprehensive. Details about Sinclair Group's structure, their portfolio companies, their financial projections, their problems.
And there, on the very first page of the company portfolio, was Blake Dynamics.
Blake Dynamics. Twenty-five billion in valuations. Thirty percent of Sinclair Group's annual revenue. Listed as their most profitable acquisition. Run by CEO Harrison Blake, age thirty-six. Reported directly to the Sinclair board.
Which meant if Eleanor became Sinclair Group's CEO, she would be his boss.
Eleanor read that sentence three times. Four times. Her brain couldn't quite process it. She would walk into boardrooms and he would be there. She would make decisions about his company. He would have to listen to her. Would have to follow her directives. Would have to sit across a table from her every quarterly meeting and hear her voice picking apart his strategies, his decisions, his empire.
She laughed. Actually laughed. Out loud. A sound that surprised her because she barely remembered what her own laugh sounded like anymore.
Two years ago, Harrison Blake had told her she was too soft for his world. Too emotional. Too weak to survive next to someone like him. He'd said it like it was kind. Like he was protecting her from herself. Like her gentleness made him weak and he couldn't have weakness, not now, not when his father was dying and his company needed him and everything was falling apart.
So he'd chosen the company.
And she'd let him.
Eleanor closed the laptop and pulled on her jacket. She grabbed her keys. She had forty-eight hours to decide if she was brave enough to go back to the city that had broken her. To the man who had broken her. To rebuild herself not just in spite of him, but directly in front of him.
She walked to the door and then stopped.
Her phone lit up with another notification. Another email. From an unknown sender. No subject line. Just a message in the body of the email.
It was one sentence.
A single sentence that made Eleanor's blood go cold.
The message read: "Don't take the job. He doesn't know you're coming, and if he finds out, everything you've built will be destroyed."
Eleanor's hand dropped. The phone fell onto the hardwood floor.
Who had just sent her that?
And how did they know?