Chapter 2

Midtown Manhattan, Seagram Building, The Grill.

This was the center of power, the hunting ground for Wall Street's apex predators. Beneath the soaring ceilings hung massive metal sculptures; French walnut paneling reflected the warm, amber lighting, and the air was a blend of expensive steak aromas, the richness of aged whiskey, and that dry, captivating scent unique to money.

Alexander Hamilton stood in the center of the banquet hall, a glass of champagne in hand. His tie was loosened, revealing the crisp white collar of his shirt beneath.

"To Alexander!"

"To this damn merger!"

"To twenty billion dollars!"

The crowd around him raised their glasses, cheers rising and falling in waves. This was the victor's moment. They had just completed the largest M&A deal on Wall Street this year, breaking up and restructuring a legacy media giant. The campaign had lasted six months, filled with treachery, all-night negotiations, and countless moments on the brink of collapse.

But now, they had won.

Alexander smiled, basking in the feeling of being the center of the universe. Adrenaline still surged through his veins, making him feel omnipotent. This rush was more intense than sex, more enduring than narcotics. It was the feeling of ruling the world.

"Boss, that final counterstrike you pulled at the negotiation table... it was textbook perfection."

The speaker was Scarlett. She had changed out of her dull daytime business suit into a red bandage dress that perfectly outlined her young, resilient figure. Her blonde hair fell casually over her shoulders, her lips—painted a true red—curved slightly upward, and her eyes were filled with undisguised adoration and ambition.

She was not just his assistant; she was his comrade-in-arms, the sharpest dagger he wielded on the battlefield. Over the past six months, they had spent ten times more hours fighting side-by-side than he had spent with Vivian.

"They showed a weakness," Alexander turned to look at Scarlett. The alcohol had made him slightly tipsy, and Scarlett looked particularly captivating before him. She possessed a vitality that Vivian had lost—that raw, reckless drive to climb upward at any cost.

"But only you seized upon that weakness." Scarlett took a small step forward, closing the social distance between them. Her perfume—a woody scent with spicy pepper notes—drilled into Alexander's nostrils.

"To victory," Scarlett raised her glass, gently clinking it against Alexander's.

"To victory," Alexander responded in a low voice.

They held each other's gaze, the surrounding noise seemingly receding in that moment. It was a tacit understanding that could only be shared by people who had bled together on the battlefield, a dangerous tension sparking with electricity.

Just then, Alexander's phone vibrated in his pocket.

He frowned, not wanting to pay it any mind, but professional habit compelled him to pull it out.

No new messages. Only the date displayed on the screen: November 23.

His heart contracted violently.

*Damn it.*

The tenth anniversary.

Memories flooded back like a tide. Vivian’s gaze this morning as he left, looking as if she wanted to say something but stopped; his perfunctory kiss; and the dinner he had completely cast to the back of his mind.

He glanced at his watch. It was already nearing nine o'clock.

"What's wrong?" Scarlett sharply perceived the shift in his mood.

"Nothing." Alexander quickly put away his phone, masking the flash of panic in his eyes.

"Checking in from home?" Scarlett raised an eyebrow, her tone carrying a hint of playfulness, and a trace of imperceptible provocation. "The perfect housewife?"

Alexander didn't like her tone, but he wasn't in the mood to correct her. "Just... forgot a personal matter."

"Alexander, don't be a buzzkill." Scarlett reached out and adjusted his slightly messy tie. Her fingertips brushed against his Adam's apple, barely there, sending a numbing current through him. "Tonight belongs to us. We made history. That case will be written into law school textbooks."

She was right. This was his peak moment.

He thought of Vivian. The woman who always stayed quietly in her studio, the woman who always looked at him with melancholic eyes. She didn't understand this. She didn't understand the thrill of a merger, the ecstasy of backing an opponent into a corner at the negotiation table. She only cared about her paintings, her flowers, and those meaningless rituals.

If he went back now, he would face a cold dinner, silent accusations, and suffocating silence.

But here, he was King.

Alexander took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing that shred of guilt. It was late anyway; he would buy a gift to compensate her tomorrow. Maybe a Van Cleef & Arpels necklace, or that Hermès Himalaya Birkin she had been eyeing for a long time. In this circle, there was nothing that an expensive gift couldn't fix.

"You're right." Alexander smiled again, and this time, there was a finality to it. "Tonight belongs to us."

He turned around, raised his glass, and announced loudly to the noisy crowd, "Everything tonight is on me!"

Cheers erupted again, nearly lifting the roof.

Scarlett watched him, the corner of her mouth hooking into a victorious smile. She knew she had won. Not against the unseen Vivian, but won a place next to the pinnacle of power.

At this moment, the lights of Manhattan outside the window still shone brilliantly. But Alexander did not know that a few blocks away, the woman who had once sworn to love him for a lifetime had just personally snuffed out the last glimmer of light in their marriage.

A waiter brought a new round of tequila.

"Come on, Alexander!" a partner clapped him on the shoulder. "We're not going home until we're drunk tonight!"

Alexander took the glass and downed it in one go. The spicy liquid burned his throat, allowing him to temporarily forget that faint, lingering unease.

In this vanity fair, everyone was a gambler. Alexander thought he had won the world, unaware that he had just lost the only person who truly loved his soul.