The smell of expensive perfume, roasted meats, and salty sea air drifted through the open terrace doors, but the air inside this circle felt freezing.

“Forty-two million,” Daniel whispered, his eyes darting between me and the leather folder in Mr. Han’s hands.

He looked at me, really looked at me, perhaps for the first time in our three years of marriage.

He noticed the custom-tailored green silk gown that fit me perfectly.

He noticed the emerald necklace around my neck, which he had assumed was cheap glass when he saw it in my jewelry box.

He saw the quiet confidence in my posture, a stark contrast to the quiet, compliant wife who used to clean his coffee spills without a word.

“Maya, please,” Daniel said, his voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur.

He stepped closer, ignoring his mother’s sharp intake of breath.

“We need to talk. Privately.”

“We have nothing to discuss that cannot be handled by our legal teams, Daniel,” I said.

“No, that’s not true,” he said, his eyes wide and pleading.

I could see the desperation creeping into his expression, the sudden calculation behind his eyes.