Chapter 4 - THE FROZEN ASSETS AND A NEW CONTRACT
Three thousand miles away, in the penthouse suite of the Beverly Hills Hotel, Ethan Mercer poured a glass of vintage champagne and stepped onto the sunlit balcony.
Sabrina Vance, dressed in a silk robe, wrapped her slender arms around his waist from behind. "Is it finally done, darling? Did she sign?"
"Of course she did," Ethan smirked, taking a sip. "Claire was always weak. By now, she's probably crying on some park bench in Queens. I froze her credit lines and canceled the apartment lease. She won't have the resources to drag me through a messy public divorce while our new tech venture launches."
Sabrina smiled against his neck. "Good. Because the investors want to see a powerful couple, not a man tied down to a domestic housewife."
Ethan’s phone buzzed aggressively on the glass table. He picked it up casually, expecting his chief financial officer to confirm the wire transfer for their new venture.
"Ethan! Turn on the financial news right now!" his CFO shouted in sheer panic.
"Calm down, George. What are you talking about?"
"Sterling Enterprises just executed a hostile takeover bid on our parent holding company! They dumped forty percent of our short positions and acquired our institutional debt from Chase and Goldman! Our stock has plummeted sixty-two percent in pre-market trading!"
Ethan dropped his champagne glass. The crystal shattered across the marble terrace. "Sterling? Nicholas Sterling? Why the hell would a trillion-dollar conglomerate care about a mid-tier logistics firm?!"
"I don't know!" George screamed. "All our corporate accounts are frozen under an emergency federal injunction signed by Sterling’s legal counsel! Ethan... we’re broke. We have less than forty-eight hours before bankruptcy!"
Ethan collapsed into a deck chair, his face turning ghostly white as Sabrina stared at him in horror.
Meanwhile, back in New York.
I woke up to the soft hum of monitors and the sweet scent of fresh white lilies filling an opulent private recovery suite. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park.
I gasped, shooting upright as panic surged through my veins. "My babies!"
"They are safe, Claire."
Sitting in an armchair across the room, an open laptop resting on his knees, was Nicholas Sterling. He wore a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, his tie loosened. He looked rested, sharp, and terrifyingly handsome.
"All three are in the level-four neonatal wing," Nicholas said, closing his laptop and walking toward my bed. "Leo, Maya, and Lucas. That’s what you whispered to the nurses before you passed out."
Tears pricked my eyes. "They're alive?"
"They are fighters. Just like you," he said gently, handing me a glass of warm water.
I took the glass with trembling hands, feeling the crushing weight of reality crash back down. "How am I going to pay for this, Mr. Sterling? I don't have a home. Ethan took everything. I don't even have a coat."
Nicholas reached into his leather briefcase and placed a single black leather binder on my bedside table.
"Ethan Mercer took what he could because he thought you were powerless," Nicholas spoke with quiet fury. "Inside that folder is an agreement. For the next twelve months, you and your children will live at my estate in upstate New York and my Manhattan penthouse. You will have full access to my legal team, a trust fund established for your triplets, and twenty-four-hour private security."
I stared at him, bewildered. "What do you want in return? Men like you don't do charity."
May you like
Nicholas leaned in close, his silver eyes flashing with a dangerous, intoxicating intensity. "In return, Claire, you will let me destroy Ethan Mercer. And when the time comes, you will walk into the high society ballroom as my woman, and watch him beg on his knees."
***
