Mark believed I was just Lena Reynolds, the quiet woman he married out of college. He didn’t know that while he played corporate games, I’d been using my grandmother’s inheritance to buy failing tech firms—including his.
At the ballroom of the Regency Hotel, Mark dragged me toward the VIP section.
“There’s Whitaker,” he whispered. “Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
Thomas Whitaker, the acting CEO, knew exactly who I was. We’d planned the company’s recovery together in private meetings.
“Mark!” Thomas greeted warmly—then looked past him and smiled at me. “And you must be his wife.”
Mark froze.
“Oh—no,” he laughed nervously. “This is Lena. She’s our nanny.”
The silence was brutal.
“The nanny?” Thomas repeated, stunned.
I met his eyes and gave the slightest shake of my head. Not yet.
“Well,” Thomas said carefully, “it’s a pleasure. I imagine cleaning up after Mark is a full-time job.”
“You have no idea,” I replied calmly.
Mark didn’t notice the tension. He led Thomas away, leaving me alone.
Then his sister Emily Reynolds appeared in a tight red dress, wine glass in hand.
“Well, look at you,” she sneered. “White dress? Brave choice for the help.”
She stepped closer. Her wrist tilted.