The wind off the Newport cliffs carried the scent of salt and incoming rain.

I stood on the gravel driveway of the Hartwell estate, looking through the high French doors of the ballroom.

Inside, crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over two hundred guests.

They were drinking my champagne and celebrating the relaunch of my company, Vale House.

Beside me, Lydia adjusted her leather briefcase.

“Are you ready, Evelyn?” she asked.

“I’ve waited three weeks for this,” I said. “Let’s go.”

My hands were cold, but my grip on the manila envelope was steady.

Three weeks ago, I was lying in a hospital bed, recovering from the difficult birth of my daughter, June.

While I was weak, my husband Carter and his Chief Operating Officer, Sloane Whitaker, forged my signature on the transfer deeds.

They transferred every single share of Vale House to a shell company controlled by Sloane.

They didn’t just steal my life’s work; they stole my identity, locking me out of my own bank accounts.

We walked up the stone steps, our heels clicking against the wet granite.

The heavy oak doors opened, and the warmth of the foyer hit my face, smelling of expensive lilies and perfume.

I could hear Carter’s voice echoing from the ballroom microphone.

“To the future of Vale House,” Carter said, raising his crystal glass. “And to the woman who made it possible, our new CEO, Sloane Whitaker.”

Loud applause rippled through the ballroom.

Sloane stood beside him on the low stage in a silk emerald gown, her hand resting familiarly on his arm.

Vivian Hartwell, my mother-in-law, stood at the front of the crowd, wearing her family diamonds and a cold, satisfied smile.

I pushed open the double doors of the ballroom.

The applause died down, one section at a time, as people turned to look at the entrance.

I wore a simple black pantsuit, a sharp contrast to the evening gowns in the room.

Carter’s smile froze instantly.

“Evelyn,” he whispered, his microphone picking up the sharp intake of his breath.

Sloane stepped back, her fingers tightening around her champagne flute.