My ex laughed the loudest as champagne soaked through my black dress, ran down my legs, and pooled inside my shoes while nearly forty people watched me burn with humiliation. Six months earlier, Damian had dumped me by text, coldly saying I no longer fit into his future—but apparently breaking my heart wasn’t enough for him. He wanted an audience when he humiliated me again. Then the ballroom doors opened, and the most feared man in New York walked in—and Damian had no idea who he had just embarrassed in front of him.

Victoria Langford swallowed hard, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Her father’s firm relied almost entirely on Mercer construction contracts to build their high-rise developments in Midtown.

"Mr. Mercer," Victoria pleaded, her voice trembling as she subtly distanced herself from Damian. "Damian didn't mean anything by it! It was an accident! He slipped!"

"Did he?" Julian asked calmly.

He reached down, taking my cold, wet hand in his. His palm was broad, calloused, and overwhelmingly warm. He didn't just hold my fingers; he interlaced his with mine, presenting a united front to the forty wealthy onlookers who were now watching in stunned silence.

"A man who cannot hold a glass of wine cannot be trusted to manage twelve million dollars in client portfolios, can he?" Julian remarked to the air.

Damian’s breath hitched. He was a junior portfolio manager at Vanguard Capital—a firm where Julian Mercer happened to sit on the board of directors as a majority stakeholder.

"Mr. Mercer, please," Damian begged, sweat breaking out across his forehead, his polished demeanor completely shattering. "I didn't know! If I had known Ava was... was associated with you—"

"You think her value depends on her association with me?" Julian interrupted, his eyes flashing with a lethal, ancient wrath. "You think because she wore a plain coat and worked sixteen-hour days to pay your law school tuition, she was small?"

My breath caught in my throat. I stared up at Julian's sharp profile.

How did he know about the coat? How did he know about the tuition?

"You took six years of her youth, Damian," Julian whispered, stepping half an inch closer until his towering six-foot-four frame blocked the chandelier light, casting Damian completely into shadow. "You took her savings, her grandmother's jewelry, and her peace. And then you dumped her by text because you thought Victoria Langford's family name would buy you a seat at the big table."

Damian looked like he was about to vomit. Victoria looked horrified, glaring at Damian with newfound disgust as the dirty laundry of his parasitic past was exposed to the elite of Manhattan.

"By eight o'clock tomorrow morning," Julian commanded softly, "your trading license will be under review by the SEC. By nine, your lease on the West Village penthouse will be terminated. And by ten... you will refund every cent of the $4,800 she gave you for your tuition, plus interest."

"You can't do that!" Damian yelled desperately. "That's illegal!"

Julian offered a small, razor-sharp smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I am the law in this city, Cross. Ask Victoria's father if you don't believe me."