Three years is enough time to rebuild a world, provided you have the right foundation.
I stood in the expansive, glass-walled boardroom of the Apex Group headquarters in New York City. Seventy stories below, the chaotic arteries of Manhattan pulsed with life, but up here, everything was ordered, sleek, and entirely under my control.
I caught my reflection in the glass. I wore a sharp, tailored navy suit. My hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant twist. And the scar—the jagged, lightning-bolt line that tore across my right cheek—was still there. I had refused plastic surgery. I didn’t hide it with heavy makeup anymore. In the cutthroat world of corporate insurance and international mergers, men saw my face and immediately understood they were dealing with someone who could not be broken. I wore it like a crown of survival.
The heavy mahogany doors to the boardroom swung open, and the sound of rapid, tiny footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor.
“Mommy!”
I turned, dropping to one knee as a bubbly, bright-eyed three-year-old girl launched herself into my arms. Her laughter echoed in the cavernous space, bright and pure. I scooped her up, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and strawberry chapstick.
Walking in behind her, leaning slightly on a silver-handled cane but looking just as formidable as ever, was Arthur. He beamed with pride, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“She evaded my executive assistant and two security guards to get in here,” Arthur chuckled, tapping his cane on the floor. “She’s definitely a Harrison.”
“She knows her mother just closed the biggest deal of the quarter,” I smiled, kissing my daughter’s cheek. I had just finalized a multi-billion dollar merger that officially cemented my place as the Chief Operating Officer, and the undisputed future head of the Apex empire.
Later that evening, after my daughter was tucked into her bed, bathed in the soft glow of a butterfly nightlight, I retreated to my private study. The fire cracked warmly in the hearth—a safe, controlled fire.
I poured myself a single glass of red wine and sat at my desk. I opened a thick, secure leather file Arthur had left for me. Inside was a single 8×10 photograph.
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