The waiter poured wine like he was performing surgery. Careful. Precise. Probably sensing the tension at the table.
Emma didn't touch her glass. Neither did James.
Jennifer had her laptop open, contract pulled up on the screen. All business. Emma loved her for that.
"Shall we begin?" Emma folded her hands on the table. Calm. Controlled. She'd rehearsed this.
James nodded. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Good.
"Phoenix Ventures is prepared to offer Sterling Tech a fifty-million-dollar investment," Emma said.
Relief flooded James's face. "That's—that's more than generous. Thank you—"
"I'm not finished." Her voice cut through his gratitude like a knife. "In exchange for fifty million, Phoenix Ventures receives forty-five percent equity in Sterling Tech and a seat on the board."
The relief died. "Forty-five percent? That would make you—"
"Nearly an equal partner. Yes." Emma's smile was sharp. "Problem?"
"That's—" James ran a hand through his hair. That tell again. "Emma, that's more than any venture capital firm would ask for."
"Ms. Hartley," she corrected. "And I'm not any venture capital firm."
Jennifer jumped in, smooth as glass. "Additionally, Ms. Hartley requires full veto power on all major company decisions for a period of two years. This includes product launches, executive hires, and any expenditure over one million dollars."
"Veto power?" James's voice went up. "You want to control my company."
"Your failing company," Emma said pleasantly. "The one that's hemorrhaging money and facing a hostile takeover. That company."
"There's more," Jennifer continued. "Mandatory salary cap for all executives—including you, Mr. Sterling. No one makes more than four hundred thousand annually until the company returns to profitability. And immediate restructuring of the leadership team, to be determined by Ms. Hartley and her advisors."
James sat back in his chair. Stared at Emma. "This is insane."
"This is fair."
"Fair?" His laugh was bitter. "You're gutting everything I built."
"No." Emma leaned forward. "I'm saving it. There's a difference."
"By taking control away from me."
"By stopping you from making more catastrophic decisions." Her voice was ice. "You came to me, James. You showed up desperate because every other investor turned you down. You're out of options. These are my terms. They're non-negotiable."
The table went silent. The restaurant buzzed around them—laughter, clinking glasses, normal people having normal dinners. This wasn't normal.
"This isn't business," James said quietly. "This is revenge."
Emma felt something twist in her chest. Sharp. Painful.
"No," she said. "Revenge would be letting you fail. Revenge would be watching Sterling Tech burn and enjoying every second of it. This?" She gestured to the contract on Jennifer's screen. "This is justice."
"What's the difference?"
"Revenge is emotional. Justice is earned." Emma picked up her wine glass finally. Took a sip. "Three hundred people work for your company. Good people who don't deserve to lose everything because their CEO made bad calls. That's why I'm here. Not for you. For them."
James was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Fifty million. That's the exact amount you got in the divorce settlement."
So he'd noticed. Of course he'd noticed.
"Poetic, isn't it?" Emma set down her glass. "You gave me fifty thousand in our divorce. I turned it into fifty million. Now I'm giving it back to you. On my terms."
"I gave you fifty thousand?" James's brow furrowed. "The settlement was for two million. Plus alimony."
"I refused the alimony. Took only my share of the apartment equity." Emma's voice was flat. "I didn't want your pity money."
Something flickered across his face. Surprise? Regret? She couldn't read it.
"You never told me that."
"You never asked." Emma pulled out her phone, opened her calendar. "You have until Sunday at midnight to decide. Accept the terms, or walk away. Either way, I'm done negotiating."
She stood. Jennifer immediately closed her laptop, grabbed her bag. Professional. Efficient.
"Wait." James stood too. "Emma—Ms. Hartley. Please. Can we just... can we talk? Not as investor and CEO. Just as people."
Emma should say no. Should walk away. This was already dangerous, being here, looking at him across a table like they were just two people having dinner instead of bitter enemies negotiating a deal.
But something in his voice. Something broken and real.
"Jennifer," Emma said. "Give us a minute."
Her lawyer looked concerned. "Emma—"
"It's fine. Wait by the car."
Jennifer left reluctantly, throwing James a warning look that could've melted steel.
Emma sat back down. "One drink. Then I'm leaving."
James collapsed into his chair like she'd given him a lifeline. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Emma signaled the waiter. Ordered whiskey. Neat. James ordered the same.
Silence stretched between them. Awkward. Heavy.
"I'm living in a hotel," James said finally. "The Plaza. Sophia got the apartment in the split. Said she needed space for the baby. I didn't fight her on it."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I don't know." He took a long drink when the whiskey arrived. "Maybe because you're the only person who understands what it feels like to have your life pulled out from under you."
Emma's jaw tightened. "I'm not your therapist, James."
"I know. I just—" He broke off. Stared into his glass. "My parents won't talk to me. Did you know that? They loved you. When I told them about the divorce, about Sophia, my mother actually said she was ashamed of me."
Good, Emma thought. But she didn't say it.
"They ask about you sometimes," James continued. "How you're doing. I never know what to tell them. I didn't know you'd built Phoenix Ventures. Didn't know you'd become... this."
"This?" Emma raised an eyebrow.
"Powerful. Successful. Untouchable." He looked at her. Really looked at her. "You're incredible, Emma. You always were. I was just too stupid to see it."
"Stop." Emma's voice was sharp.
"I destroyed the best thing in my life because I was a coward who measured worth in all the wrong ways."
"You're right." Emma's words were cold. "You were a coward."
James flinched. "I know."
"You're still being a coward."
"What do you mean?"
Emma leaned forward. "You're sitting here hoping I'll absolve you. Make you feel better about your choices. Tell you it's okay, that you're forgiven, that we can move past it." She shook her head. "I won't. You don't get closure or forgiveness. You get a business arrangement—if you're smart enough to take it."
"I don't want forgiveness." James's voice was raw. "I know I don't deserve it. I just want you to know that I'm sorry. That I see it now. What I did. What I threw away."
"Congratulations. You have self-awareness." Emma drained her whiskey. "Does it change anything? Does it bring back the two years I spent rebuilding myself? Does it undo the damage?"
"No."
"Then what's the point?"
James was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Are you happy?"
The question caught her off guard. "What?"
"Are you happy? Now. With all this success. Are you happy?"
Emma wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell him she was deliriously happy, that her life was perfect, that she'd never been better.
"I rebuilt myself from nothing," she said instead. "You took everything from me, and I made it work. So yes. I'm happy. I'm powerful. I don't need anyone."
James looked at her. Really looked at her. And something in his expression made her chest tight.
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard," he said quietly.
Fury blazed through her. Hot. Consuming. "You don't get to pity me."
"I don't pity you." James's voice was soft. Earnest. "I'm in awe of you. And I hate that I had to lose you to finally see what I had."
The words hung between them.
Emma's walls were cracking. She could feel them. Fissures spreading through the armor she'd built so carefully.
"James—"
"I know it's too late. I know that. But I need you to know—" He took a breath. "You were never the problem. I was. I was so obsessed with building this image of success that I couldn't see the person who'd actually made it possible. You challenged me every day. Your kindness challenged me. Your loyalty. Your belief in me when I didn't deserve it. And I was too blind and too arrogant to see it."
Emma's throat felt tight. "Stop."
"I'm not asking for anything. I just—"
"Stop." She stood abruptly. "I need to leave."
James stood too. "Emma—"
"Sign the papers or don't. Your choice." She grabbed her bag. "But stop trying to... stop this."
She headed for the exit. Fast. She needed air. Needed space. Needed to get away from him before she did something stupid like cry.
The restaurant doors opened.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Cameras. Paparazzi. At least six of them, blocking the sidewalk.
"Ms. Hartley! Is it true you're investing in Sterling Tech?"
"Are you and James Sterling back together?"
"How does it feel to be working with your ex-husband?"
Emma froze. Shit. Someone had tipped them off. Business gossip traveled fast in Manhattan, but this—this was too fast. Too coordinated.
More flashes. The questions getting louder. More invasive.
"What's your relationship status?"
"James! James, over here!"
She felt him before she saw him. James moving in front of her, his body blocking the cameras. Old instinct. Protective. The way he used to shield her from crowds at events.
"Back up," he said to the paparazzi. Firm. Authoritative. "Give her space."
For just a second, Emma let herself lean into that protection. Muscle memory. Her body remembering when he was safe. When he was home.
His hand found the small of her back. Just for a moment. Just to guide her through the crowd.
The touch sent electricity up her spine.
Then Jennifer was there with the car, and Emma was pulling away, and James was stepping back, and they were leaving separately—him going left, her going right.
But the damage was done.
Those photos would be everywhere by morning.
Emma's apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
She poured herself another whiskey. Drank it standing by the window, looking out at the Manhattan skyline. All those lights. All those people. And here she was. Alone.
Powerful and alone.
That's the saddest thing I've ever heard.
She hated that his words had landed. Hated that they felt true.
Her eyes caught on something. The desk drawer. The one where she'd put James's letter.
She should throw it away. Unread. Burn it, maybe. Make a ceremony of it.
Instead, she found herself walking over. Opening the drawer. The envelope was still there. Cream-colored. Heavy paper. Her name written in his handwriting.
Don't open it, the smart part of her brain said. Nothing good can come from this.
She opened it anyway.
The letter was several pages. His handwriting. Rushed. Like he'd written it in one sitting.
Emma,
I don't expect forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But you deserve the truth about why I really left. Not the reasons I gave you. The real reasons.
I was approached by my business partner Marcus six months before I asked for the divorce. He told me Sterling Tech needed a different image if we were going to attract serious investors. That I needed to look like the kind of CEO venture capitalists wanted to fund. Young, hungry, ambitious.
You were none of those things in his eyes. You were kind. Settled. You worked at a nonprofit. He said you made me look "soft."
Emma's hands tightened on the letter.
He introduced me to Sophia. His niece. Said she'd be perfect as my assistant—young, polished, driven. I didn't know he was setting me up. I didn't know she was reporting back to him.
She started feeding me doubts. Little things at first. Comments about how you seemed tired, how you'd "let yourself go," how you weren't interested in my work anymore. She showed me emails—later I found out they were fabricated—that made it look like you were complaining about me to friends. Saying you felt trapped.
I believed it. God help me, I believed it. Because part of me was already feeling inadequate next to you. You were so smart, Emma. So capable. I kept thinking you'd wake up one day and realize you'd settled for me.
So when Marcus pressured me to "upgrade my personal life" and Sophia was there, making me feel needed and admired—I made the worst choice of my life.
I'm not saying this to excuse what I did. I made those choices. I said those horrible things to you. I destroyed us. That's on me.
But I need you to know—Marcus is the one pushing the hostile takeover now. This was always his plan. Get me to divorce you, install Sophia, wait for me to fail, then swoop in and take over Sterling Tech.
He played me. And I was too proud and too stupid to see it until it was too late.
You don't owe me anything. But if you do invest in Sterling Tech, you should know who you're really fighting.
It's not me.
It's him.
- James
Emma read the letter twice. Then a third time.
Marcus.
The business partner who'd been with James from the start. The one who'd helped build Sterling Tech from the ground up.
He'd orchestrated everything.
The manipulation. The affair. The divorce. The downfall.
And now he was moving in for the kill.
Emma sat down slowly. Her mind was racing. Calculating.
James had still made the choice to leave. Still said those cruel words. Still destroyed their marriage.
But he'd been played. They'd both been played.
And she really, really hated being played.
Her phone buzzed. News alert. The photos from tonight were already online. "Tech Mogul Emma Hartley's Intimate Dinner with Ex-Husband—Reconciliation or Business Deal?"
In the photo, James's hand was on her back. They were close. Too close. It looked like more than business.
It looked like something else entirely.
Emma stared at the letter in her hands. Then at her phone. Then back at the letter.
This just got a lot more complicated.