He didn’t know that her full name was Lydia Hart Sinclair. And he certainly didn’t know that the dusty antique bookstore she walked out of was actually the private archives of the Sinclair Foundation. She had just finished inspecting it before the board meeting that would announce her as the sole heiress to the Sinclair Media Group. It was a conglomerate that owned half the news stations in the country, including the financial network Derek watched every morning.
Two weeks later, the “Save the Date” cards for Derek and Jessica’s wedding went out. They were heavy, cream-colored cardstock with gold leaf lettering, costing fifteen dollars a pop. Derek wanted to make a statement.
He invited everyone: his boss, the CEO of Stratton Oakmont, his clients, and even his old college rivals. He also, in a stroke of drunken arrogance, sent one to Lydia.
“Why would you invite her?” Kyle asked over drinks at a rooftop bar in Chelsea.
Derek swirled his whiskey. “Closure, Kyle. Plus, I want her to see what she missed out on. I want her to see Jessica in that Vera Wang dress. I want her to see the ice sculpture. I want her to realize that leaving me was the biggest mistake of her life.”
“Didn’t you leave her?”
“Semantics,” Derek waved a hand dismissively. “The point is, I want her to suffer a little. Is that bad?”
“It’s petty,” Kyle laughed, “but I like it.”
Meanwhile, across the city, in a penthouse overlooking Central Park—a property that wasn’t listed on Zillow and had been in the Sinclair family since 1920—Lydia held the invitation between two fingers. She was sitting in a velvet armchair, wearing a silk robe that cost more than Derek’s entire wedding budget. Her hair was down, cascading over her shoulders in glossy waves. There were no messy buns here.
“He invited you?” a voice came from the balcony.
Lydia turned. Standing there was Tobias Thorn, the family’s chief legal counsel and her childhood best friend. Tobias was sharp, dangerously intelligent, and the only person who knew the full extent of the transition Lydia was undergoing.
“He did,” Lydia said, her voice cool and amused. “Derek has always been a fan of the theatrical.”
Tobias walked in, pouring himself a glass of vintage scotch. “The man is a moron. He’s celebrating a promotion to SVP while you’re about to be named Chairwoman of the board that owns his bank’s parent company. Does he have any idea?”
“None,” Lydia smiled. “I played the part of the dutiful, simple wife very well, Tobias. I wanted to see if he loved me, or if he just wanted a prop. When he started complaining that I wasn’t ambitious enough because I didn’t want to go to gala dinners every night, I knew it was over.”
“So are you going?” Tobias asked, gesturing to the invitation. “To the wedding?”
Lydia tapped the card against her chin. “The wedding is on the 14th of next month.”
“The same day as the Global Media Summit,” Tobias noted, “where you’re making your first public appearance as the Sinclair head.”
“Exactly,” Lydia said. “I can’t go. But I can send a gift.”
“A toaster?”
“No.” Lydia’s eyes glittered. “Something more appropriate. Derek loves status, right? He loves feeling important. I think I’ll buy the venue.”
Tobias choked on his drink. “You’re going to buy Oheka Castle?”
“Not the whole castle, Tobias. Don’t be dramatic. Just the hospitality group that manages their events. I was looking at their portfolio anyway. They’re undervalued. If I acquire them, I technically become his host.”
“You are terrifying,” Tobias grinned.
“He wanted a power couple,” Lydia said, standing up and walking to the window to look out at the city lights. “He wanted drama. He wanted a story to tell his friends. I’m just going to give him a better ending than he planned.”
Back in his office, Derek was stressing over the seating chart. Jessica was screaming at a florist on the phone.
“No, I said white peonies, not cream! Are you colorblind? My fiancé will sue you!” Jessica slammed the phone down. “Derek, you need to fix this. Everything is going wrong. The florist is an idiot, and now the band is saying they double-booked.”
“I’ll handle it, babe,” Derek said, massaging his temples. He checked his email. A notification popped up from Business Insider. Subject: “The Sleeping Giant Wakes: Sinclair Estate Finally Names Successor.”
Derek deleted it without reading. He didn’t care about old money families. He cared about his wedding. He cared about showing the world he had arrived.
He picked up his phone and texted Lydia. Hey, sent you an invite. No hard feelings. Hope you can make it. It’s going to be huge.
He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. No reply.
“She’s probably crying into a pint of ice cream,” Derek muttered to himself, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction.
He had no idea that at that exact moment, Lydia was sitting in a boardroom surrounded by twelve men in gray suits. She was signing a document that authorized the acquisition of the Prestige Hospitality Group—the very company Derek had just paid a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit to.
“Mr. Bolton?” his assistant knocked on the door. “There’s a call for you. It’s the bank. Something about your credit limit?”
“What?” Derek snapped. “I’m a VP. Put them through.” He picked up the phone. “This is Derek.”
“Mr. Bolton, this is fraud prevention. We noticed a massive charge for a wedding venue, but we also see you’ve maxed out three cards on jewelry and a lease for a Porsche.”
“It’s an investment!” Derek shouted, sweating slightly. “I’m good for it. My bonus is coming next month, right?”
“Well, we need to freeze the accounts until you can verify some income streams. It looks like your debt-to-income ratio is getting risky.”
“Do not freeze my cards!” Derek roared. “I have vendors to pay!” He slammed the phone down.
Jessica looked at him, eyes wide. “Is everything okay?”
