<b>Chapter </b><b>4 </b>


    Vera’s precious little restaurant reopened right on schedule–It was Camden’s thirtieth birthday gift to her.


    <b>He </b>wasn’t taking any chances with round two.


    On grand reopening day, he had private security stationed around ourpound like I was some kind of domestic


    terrorist.


    Really? He was that paranoid I’d crash his little celebration?


    I watched the guys in tactical gear patrolling our infinity pool area from my bedroom window.


    Honestly? Pathetic.


    Since I was apparently under house arrest, I figured I’d catch up on the Netflix shows Harper kept texting me about.


    Around sunset, Camden burst through our bedroom doors like he was starring in his own action movie.


    He yanked me off the bed so hard I thought he’d dislocated my shoulder.


    “Are you literally incapable of staying in yourne?”


    His grip felt like it could snap my wrist. I couldn’t break free.


    “What’s your damage now?<b>” </b>


    He let out this bitterugh, shoving me back onto bed and throwing his phone at me.


    “Hope you’re real proud of your handiwork.”


    I blinked myself awake and focused on the screen.


    TMZ headline: Tech Mogul’s Sweetheart Restaurant Opening Turns Into Public Humiliation Nightmare


    The photos showed Vera’s aesthetically pleasing storefront decorated with some truly inspired banners:


    “Vera’s Kitchen: We Serve Home Cooking AND Homewrecking!”


    “Today’s Special: Husband Poaching with a Side of Moral Bankruptcy!”


    “Congrats on 30 Years of Life and 5 Years of Stealing! #Blessed Bae”


    Even with the names blurred out for legal reasons, you could practically feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating through the screen.


    Vera ran some exclusive reservation–only concept that required a two–month wait list. Camden had invited half of


    13:25


    Hell Yeah, Forget the Other Woman, My Smart House Was Cheating On <b>Me</b><b>! </b>


    <b>28.9</b><b>% </b>


    Silicon Valley’s elite to show support–VCs, tech founders, that crowd that treated restaurant openings like IPO


    This little stunt had humiliated them in front <b>of </b>everyone who could make or break a business in this town.


    No wonder he looked ready tomit murder.


    I massaged my aching wrist and met his re steadily. “This has literally nothing to do with me.”


    Camden pressed his palms against his temples.


    “The eventpany we traced said they got paid through Sterling Industries‘ corporate ount. If it wasn’t you pulling the strings, then who?”


    Sterling Industries.


    My stomach dropped into my designer slides.


    It took me a hot minute to find my voice again.


    “If you mean my family’s Sterling Industries, then yeah, you’re right. Definitely wasn’t me.”


    “I haven’t had ess to Sterling money in years, Camden. You know that better than anyone.”


    His expression shifted like he was buffering.


    Once upon a time, Camden and I hadn’t just been equals.


    I’d been so far out of his league we practically lived in different zip codes.


    I was Sterling Industries‘ crown princess–daddy’s little heiress to a tech empire that had been acquiringpanies since before Google was a thing.


    Camden came from old Pasadena money, but his trust fund situation was shakier than a startup’s first–quarter projections.


    His dad basically pretended he didn’t exist, All the family love went to his half–brother–the golden child from daddy’s “real love” second marriage.


    Mr. Ashworth had made it crystal clear at every charity g that the family business belonged to his favorite son.


    So I’d worked my connections harder than a K–Street lobbyist. Used every board seat, every country club rtionship, every favor Sterling Industries had umted over decades.


    I’d even pushed for our strategic marriage alliance<b>, </b>giving the old bastard no choice but to acknowledge Camden as worthy of the family name.


    I’d leveraged my inheritance to secure his.


    Then Dad died in that helicopter crash.


    I’d beenpletely destroyed, barely functional, when my adopted brother Marcus–the charity case Dad had rescued


    from foster care–orchestrated a hostile takeover with the board of directors.


    They’d frozen me outpletely. Not a single stock option, not even a golden parachute.


    Escorted out of Sterling Tower like I was some kind of corporate spy.


    Camden had been absolutely livid.


    “That ungrateful piece of shit. After you basically raised him, how could he screw you over like this?”


    But Ashworth Holdings couldn’t go toe–to–toe with Sterling Industries. Nobody could.


    He’d held me while I had my breakdown, making promises:


    “It doesn’t matter, Sage. You’ve got me. We’ll build something even bigger.”