The obsidian glass of the Vance Innovations headquarters loomed against the gray morning sky, a towering monument to Julian’s ego and Clara’s stolen years. Standing on the pavement outside, Clara Hayes looked at her reflection in the polished surface. She barely recognized the woman staring back.

The basement laboratory of Vance Innovations was a sensory deprivation chamber compared to the opulent executive suites above. There were no windows, no marble floors, and no natural light—only the hum of server racks and the harsh glare of dual monitors. For five years, this had been Clara’s gilded

The penthouse lab at Thorne Capital was a temple of modern architecture, suspended high above the glittering grid of the city. Unlike the claustrophobic, windowless basement Julian had shoved her into at Vance Innovations, Damian’s private sanctuary was a sprawling expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass,