At 7:11 the next morning, Marcus called.

Nah looked at the screen until it stopped vibrating.

He texted instead.

Morning.

How’s the retreat?

She almost laughed.

She typed back, Busy.

Presenting soon.

You?

He replied, Back-to-back panels.

Exhausted already.

She stared at those words until her expression flattened completely.

Liars often ruined themselves by underestimating silence.

Nah answered with a simple, Good luck today.

Then she dressed in cream slacks and a slate-blue blouse, pinned her hair into a low knot, and went downstairs to deliver the most important presentation of her career.

And she did it brilliantly.

If anyone noticed the steel in her voice had sharpened overnight, they mistook it for confidence.

By lunchtime, Halbrecht’s CEO had pulled her aside and said, “You were the strongest person in the room this morning.”

Nah smiled politely and thought, You have

no idea.

At 2:06 p.m., Leona sent an update.

Marcus attempted three transactions.

All blocked.

At 2:18 p.m., another.

He called the company accountant.

At 2:40 p.m., the accountant, who worked under a governance structure Nah had approved years earlier, informed Marcus that a financial review had been triggered and that majority authorization was required to release the hold.

At 2:41 p.m., Marcus asked who had authority.

At 2:43 p.m., the accountant answered: Mrs.

Nah Mercer.

Nah was in a breakout session when Marcus’s first panicked call came through.

Then another.

Then five more in less than ten minutes.

She silenced the phone and kept taking notes.

That evening, he left a voicemail.

“Nah, call me.

Right now.

There’s some kind of mistake with the company accounts.”

A second voicemail followed.

“What did you do?”

Then, after a longer gap, a third.

The charm was gone now.

“Nah, this isn’t funny.”

She listened to all three while sitting alone in a quiet lounge off the hotel corridor, one ankle crossed over the other, expression unreadable.

Then she finally texted him.

We should talk tonight.

His reply came instantly.

Yes.

Please.

My hotel lobby.

8 p.m.?

She wrote back, Rooftop.

Same place.

There was a long pause before he responded.

Okay.

Nah arrived five minutes early.

The rooftop looked different in daylight’s fading glow.

Less magical.

More exposed.

The hostess recognized her from the night before and offered a careful smile.

Nah asked for a quiet table near the terrace edge.

When Marcus walked in, he looked like a man who had slept badly and blamed someone else for it.

He wore the same expensive confidence he always wore into negotiations, but panic had started to fray the seams.

His gaze found her immediately.

He approached slowly.

“You were here.”

Nah folded her hands in her lap.

He stood there for a moment, maybe waiting for her to erupt.

When she did not, he sat down.

“I can explain,” he said.

“That would be interesting,” Nah replied.

He lowered his voice.

“This is not what it looked like.”

For the first time since the night before, she let herself show the smallest hint of disbelief.

“Marcus.

You proposed to another woman on a rooftop full of witnesses.”

His jaw tightened.

“It’s complicated.”

“No,” Nah said softly.

“It’s embarrassingly simple.”

He leaned in.

“Her name is Celeste.

She thought I was separated.”

Nah’s eyes did not move.

“Were you?”

Marcus said nothing.

“Did you tell her you were divorced?” Nah asked.

Still nothing.

She reached into her bag and placed her phone on the table between them.

One tap, and the screen showed a paused frame of him kneeling, ring box open, face radiant.

Marcus went pale.

“I recorded enough,” she said.

“Including the part where you said you were finally free.”

He swallowed.

“Nah, listen to me—”

“No.

You listen.” Her voice never rose.

“You lied to me.

You lied to her.

You used a company card for a personal engagement ring.

And you forgot a detail you should have remembered every single day you built that business.”

His eyes flickered.

“What detail?”

Nah almost pitied him for the brief, awful second before understanding landed.

Then it did.

“You froze the accounts?” he said.

“I triggered a review.”

“You had

no right.”

She looked at him then with full, calm astonishment.

His breathing changed.

He was calculating quickly now, trying to rebuild power from fragments.

“This will destroy my company.”

“No,” Nah said.

“Your choices are doing that.”

He leaned back hard in his chair.

“So that’s what this is? Punishment?”