He removed his wife from the guest list for being ‘too simple’… He had no idea she was the secret owner of his empire.

It moved quietly.

The way Elara had learned to move.

Elara tapped a contact labeled: SEBASTIAN.

He answered on the first ring.

“Mrs. Thorn,” he said. His voice was calm, deep, precise. “We received the access change. Was it an error?”

Elara’s voice was different now—no softness, no apology.

“No,” she said. “It wasn’t an error.”

A pause.

“Do you want us to pull support?” Sebastian asked carefully.

Elara stepped into the house, untied her apron, and let it fall to the floor like shedding a skin.

“No,” she said. “That would be mercy. He wants an image. He wants power. I’m going to teach him what power actually is.”

She climbed the staircase, each step echoing in the silence.

“Is the wardrobe ready?”

“Yes, ma’am. The Paris order arrived this morning.”

“And the arrival plan?”

“Confirmed.”

Elara stopped at her bedroom door and glanced at a framed photo on the nightstand—her and Julian years ago, his arm around her, eyes full of awe, as if he’d genuinely seen her.

Now he looked through her.

He’d fallen in love with what the world gave him and forgot who had helped him build the door.

“Sebastian,” Elara said, “update my designation.”

“As Mr. Thorn’s spouse?” he asked.

Elara walked into her closet and pushed aside rows of modest dresses Julian had always praised. Hidden behind them was a panel. She pressed a code.

The wall slid open.

Inside was a room that looked like another life: couture gowns, jewel boxes, carefully organized documents—proof of ownership, proof of influence, proof of truth.