“I know, babe,” Mark said, patting her head condescendingly. “Just… try to look a bit more presentable tomorrow. The promotion party is a big deal. The CEO might be there. I don’t want you looking like… well, like this.”
He gestured at her apron.
Elena smiled. It was a cold, sharp smile that Mark didn’t notice because he was already looking at his phone.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly who I am tomorrow.”
Later that night, as Mark snored beside her, Elena’s phone lit up on the nightstand. It was Mark’s phone, actually. He had forgotten to silence it.
A message from “Jessica – Work”: I can’t wait to be your queen tomorrow night. Your stupid wife won’t suspect a thing. Wear the blue tie I bought you.
Elena stared at the screen. She didn’t cry. She reached under the bed and pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a platinum seal ring with the NovaStream crest.
She whispered to the sleeping man, “You wanted a queen, Mark. Be careful what you wish for.”
The Grand Ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton was bathed in gold and violet light. It was an event fit for royalty, paid for by a “generous anonymous donor” from the corporate office.
Mark arrived in a limousine. He stepped out, looking dashing in the blue tie Jessica had bought him. On his arm was Jessica herself—a striking woman in a red dress that was illegal in three states. She worked in HR, a department Elena had specifically instructed to hire more “creative thinkers.” Apparently, Jessica’s creativity lay elsewhere.
Elena arrived ten minutes later. In an Uber.
Mark had told her to meet him there. “It’s better if we arrive separately,” he had said. “I have to network early.”
Elena walked into the ballroom. She was wearing a simple black dress. Elegant, but understated. She stood near a pillar, watching her husband work the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mark’s voice boomed over the crowd as he held up a champagne flute. He was holding court near the ice sculpture. “They say behind every great man is a great woman. And I have to agree.”
He pulled Jessica closer. The crowd, assuming she was his wife, applauded politely.
“Jessica here has been my rock,” Mark lied effortlessly. “Her intelligence, her class… that’s what drives me.”
A junior executive leaned over to Mark. “Is that your wife, Mark?”
Mark laughed, a cruel, braying sound. “No, no. This is Jessica, my… right hand. My wife is around here somewhere.” He scanned the room, his eyes sliding over Elena in the shadows. “Probably near the buffet. She loves free food.”
Jessica giggled, whispering something in Mark’s ear.
Elena watched them. Her heart was a block of ice. But then, she saw it.
Around Jessica’s neck glittered a necklace. It was a blue diamond pendant, set in white gold. The design was unmistakable. It was the Star of the North, a custom piece commissioned by Elena’s grandfather for her grandmother. It had been missing from Elena’s jewelry box for two weeks. Mark had told her he took it to get the clasp repaired.
He hadn’t just cheated on her. He had stolen her legacy to adorn his mistress.
The last shred of pity Elena held for Mark evaporated.
She pulled out her phone. It was 8:00 PM.
She opened an encrypted app and typed a single message to the CEO of the holding company, Arthur Sterling.
Message: Execute Plan Omega. The stage is yours.
The lights in the ballroom flickered. The smooth jazz music cut out, replaced by a low, ominous hum of feedback.
“What’s going on?” Mark muttered, looking around. “Did we lose power?”
A voice boomed from the overhead speakers, god-like in its volume.
“Will the new Marketing Director please come to the stage to receive… a special decision from the Chairman of the Board.”
Mark’s face lit up. He turned to Jessica. “This is it. The Chairman is finally acknowledging me. Maybe a bonus? Maybe equity?”
He grabbed Jessica’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go make history.”
They walked toward the stage, beaming, unaware that the giant LED screen behind them—which had been displaying the company logo—was glitching. The logo was dissolving, pixel by pixel, revealing something else entirely.
As Mark and Jessica ascended the stairs to the stage, the heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom swung open.
A group of six men and women in dark suits entered. They moved with the synchronized precision of a predatory pack. In the center was Arthur Sterling, the public-facing CEO of NovaStream. He was a terrifying man—six foot four, with silver hair and a reputation for eating competitors for lunch.
Mark froze on stage. “Mr. Sterling!” he called out, waving frantically. “Over here!”
Sterling didn’t look at the stage. He and his entourage walked straight through the crowd, parting the sea of guests. They were heading toward the back corner. Toward the shadows.
Mark frowned. “He must not see me. The lights are in his eyes.”
“Mark,” Jessica hissed, tugging his sleeve. “Look at the screen.”
“Not now, Jessica. I need to get Sterling’s attention.”
“Mark! Look!”
