Chapter 1

Manhattan in September welcomed a belated "Indian Summer," the humid, stifling air suspended with an anxious metallic tang—that distinct Fifth Avenue blend of expensive perfume and automobile exhaust.

Before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Sterling Building's penthouse, though the central AC was set to a comfortable 68 degrees, Bella Lin still felt a dry heat seeping from her very bones. The oat latte from the "Blue Bottle" downstairs held in her hand had completely separated, the straw stained with the imprint of her dusty-rose lipstick. Her gaze didn't linger for even a second on the prime view overlooking the autumn colors of Central Park; instead, it was fixed dead on the jagged red line pulsing on the Bloomberg terminal.

"The longshoremen's union at Port Elizabeth in New Jersey just rejected the third round of negotiations. The ILA is threatening a full-scale strike before the Christmas season." Bella's voice was as calm as algorithm-processed AI, though her stomach throbbed dully from prolonged fasting and an overdose of ibuprofen. "Liam, if this season's cashmere coats don't clear customs and enter inventory this week, the flagship store's windows on Fifth Avenue will be empty. You know how venomous the pens at *WWD* are; they're just waiting to see Sterling Department Store become a joke."

At the other end of the room, Liam Sterling was swinging a custom Scotty Cameron putter, deftly sending a golf ball into a practice cup atop an expensive Persian rug.

"Relax, Bella." Liam didn't even look up. He wore a bespoke charcoal worsted suit from Savile Row, cuffs revealing an inch of perfect white Egyptian cotton shirt, fastened with silver cufflinks bearing the Sterling family crest. "Send the union president two cases of Château Latour, or arrange for his good-for-nothing son to get into a private prep school—whatever they like. Father used to handle this dirty work; now it's you. By the way, did you book a table at Per Se for tonight? I want the one by the window, overlooking Columbus Circle."

Bella's fingers stiffened at the edge of her iPad. Per Se, the hardest three-Michelin-star reservation in New York, usually requiring a Black Card and snapping up a spot two months in advance on Resy.

"It's booked. I booked it two months ago," Bella lowered her head, masking the trace of exhaustion in her eyes. "To celebrate our fifth anniversary."

"Oh, right." Liam finally looked up, a flash of careless apology in those charming hazel eyes—an expression learned in boarding school specifically to smooth over trouble. "Is that today? Sorry, babe. You know how hard the Old Guard on the board has been pushing me lately."

He walked over and patted Bella on the head, as if soothing an obedient golden retriever. "You really are my savior. Without you, Sterling Department Store would probably be in chaos."

"Liam, about the logistics Plan B..."

"You handle it, Bella. You always handle it well." Liam glanced at the Patek Philippe Nautilus on his wrist. "I have to go to the Highland Club; Charles and the guys are waiting for me for squash. You know how it is—more deals are closed in the locker room there than in the boardroom."

He picked up his waxed Barbour jacket and turned to leave, leaving Bella with a silhouette that was dashing yet cold. Bella stood rooted to the spot, watching the city outside, prosperous to the point of cruelty. She was the invisible brain of this empire, an omnipotent ghost, but in this man's world, she mattered less than that golf hole.

---