“I am awake now.”
A small, sharp smile touched my mouth.
“And tomorrow, the real purge of Nathaniel’s loyalists begins.”
Three years later, the grand ballroom of The Plaza Hotel in Manhattan was filled with wealth, power, and silence waiting to happen.
Global executives, politicians, and dignitaries filled the room beneath glittering chandeliers. The master of ceremonies stepped to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the CEO of Whitmore Global and founder of the Phoenix Foundation for Survivors, Ms. Isabella Whitmore.”
Applause thundered as I walked onto the stage.
I did not wear a conservative suit. I did not make myself smaller.
I wore an emerald-green gown. The front was elegant and high-necked, but the back plunged to the base of my spine.
My scars were fully visible.
Twenty pale, raised lines across my back, displayed beneath the chandelier light.
I wore them like a crown.
Earlier that morning, my assistant had placed a news clipping on my desk.
Former Tech CEO Nathaniel Cross Sentenced to 25 Years Without Parole in Federal Fraud Case.
I looked once at his haggard mugshot, then dropped the page into the shredder.
My heart did not race.
He was a ghost.
