Chapter 1

My anniversary dinner ended not with a kiss, but with my husband Cole cheating on me with my cousin, Britney.

He kicked me out of our home, the one my father helped us buy, and banished me to the guest house. But when I arrived, Britney was already there, wearing my favorite silk robe, smirking as she told me I'd be staying in the damp basement apartment instead.

Down in the cold, musty cellar, I found what my father left me: proof that Cole hadn't just married me. He had orchestrated the hostile takeover that destroyed my father's company, drove him to his death, and then married me to steal everything that was left, including my life's work, a project called "Aura."

He had me committed to a psychiatric facility, telling everyone I was unstable. He thought he had buried me, but my childhood friend Eric helped me fake my death in a staged car crash.

Now, years later, I've returned.

Under a new name, Iris, I've created a new masterpiece that has the tech world buzzing, and it's about to bring Cole's empire to its knees.

He thinks Emma Russell is dead. He has no idea she's about to destroy him.

Chapter 1

My anniversary dinner with Cole ended, not with a kiss, but with my discovery of his affair with Britney, my innocent-faced cousin. The scent of champagne and roses still hung in the air, clashing with the bitter taste in my mouth. Guests were trickling out, their polite goodbyes sounding hollow, like echoes in an empty hall.

I stood by the large bay window, watching the luxury cars disappear down the tree-lined driveway. Each tail light was a fading memory of a life I thought I had, a life that was never real. My spine felt rigid, cold. Other women might have cried, screamed even. I just felt... quiet. A stillness had settled deep inside me, a dangerous calm.

A hand touched my arm. It was Mrs. Albright, a family friend from Cole' s side. Her eyes were full of pity, or what she thought was pity.

"Emma, darling, are you alright?" she asked, her voice a soft flutter.

I turned my head just enough for her to see my eyes. I didn't say a word. My gaze was a wall. She withdrew her hand, her smile faltering, and quickly excused herself. Good. I needed space. I needed this clear, cold air around me.

I walked to my study, the one room Cole rarely entered. My fingers, steady as a surgeon's, picked up my phone. I scrolled through my contacts.

"Mr. Davies," I said, my voice barely a whisper, yet firm. "It's Emma Russell. I need to initiate divorce proceedings. Immediately."

There was a pause on the other end, a sharp intake of breath. "Mrs. Woodard? Are you certain? This is rather sudden. Is everything alright?" Mr. Davies, my family lawyer, sounded genuinely surprised.

"I am entirely certain," I affirmed, each word a stone dropping into a deep well. "There is nothing 'alright' about it. Just do it."

He hesitated. "Very well. I'll start the paperwork first thing tomorrow. Is there anything specific you'd like to include regarding the division of assets?"

"Just get the ball rolling," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. "I will provide details later. For now, speed is of the essence."

A sudden vibration in my hand made me flinch. A notification. It was from Britney. My stomach clenched, a cold knot of dread and fury.

The message contained a picture. It was a selfie. Britney, her eyes wide and artificially innocent, lay against a pillow. Cole' s pillow. And around her neck, gleaming faintly, was the sapphire pendant Cole had given me on our fifth anniversary. The one he said he'd customized just for me.

Below the photo, a string of words, casual, cruel: "He said it looked better on me, Em. And honestly? He's right. You always were too... serious for pretty things. Some people just know how to really live, you know?"

My vision blurred. A hot wave of nausea washed over me, climbing up my throat. My head pounded, a relentless drumbeat against my temples. The room spun. I clutched the edge of my desk, bile rising. Britney. My sweet, naive cousin.

The phone vibrated again, a call this time. Cole. His name flashed on the screen, a tormenting red. I took a deep, ragged breath and answered.

"What the hell was that, Emma?" His voice was cold, sharp, laced with barely controlled fury. "You ruined the entire evening! What was with that death glare at Britney? You embarrassed me in front of everyone."

My hand trembled, but I kept my voice level. "I suppose I wasn't feeling very festive, Cole. Considering."

"Considering what?" he scoffed. "Your usual theatrics? Look, I'm tired of this. Britney's upset. I need you to pack your things. You can stay in the guest house for now. I'll have the house staff move your belongings there tomorrow."

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through my chest, like someone had reached in and twisted my heart. The guest house. He was kicking me out of my own home, the home my father had helped us buy. For Britney.

"Alright," I said, the word a flat, empty sound.

A beat of silence. "What did you say?" Cole sounded genuinely taken aback.

"I said alright," I repeated, a strange, dark calm settling over me. "The guest house. Fine."

He huffed, a sound of frustrated disbelief. "Right. Well. Just... don't make a scene. I'll send someone up to help you." And then, he hung up. The line went dead with a click that echoed in the sudden silence of the study.

My eyes fell on the framed photograph on my desk – my father, David Russell, his kind eyes smiling back at me. This house, this life, it all started with him. His legacy. I could feel the cold, heavy weight of his absence, but also a spark, a tiny ember of his strength.

I left the study, my footsteps echoing in the silent house. I walked past the grand staircase, past the drawing room, and into the sun-drenched conservatory, a place my father had loved. In the corner, almost hidden behind an overgrown fern, was a small, antique wooden cabinet. It was his. He used to keep his most treasured sketches here, his early designs.

I traced the carvings on its dark wood. How many times had I seen him here, lost in thought, a pen in his hand? I closed my eyes, remembering his laugh, the way he'd explain complex algorithms to me in simple, magical terms. He trusted Cole. He brought Cole into his company. And Cole, with Britney's father as his accomplice, had destroyed it all, and him.

My love for Cole, that fragile, mistaken thing, had died tonight. But something else was blooming in its place. A cold, hard resolve. A thirst for justice.

My fingers found the tiny, almost invisible latch at the bottom of the cabinet. It clicked open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, nestled amongst faded blueprints and a worn leather-bound journal, was a small, encrypted USB drive. My father' s final work. The real Aura.

This wasn't just about Cole anymore. This was about David Russell. My father. And his legacy. The drive felt cool against my palm, a promise, a weapon. This was the key. This was where it all began.