The Herald published at 6 a.m. on Sunday.
Nora was already awake. She had barely slept. She sat at the kitchen table in her apartment with a cup of tea she hadn't touched, her phone face-down in front of her, watching the clock on the microwave tick from 5:59 to 6:00.
Then she turned the phone over.
The notification was already there.
CROSS TECH'S NEW CEO: THE BILLIONAIRE'S EX-WIFE?
She read the article in full. It was thorough. The journalist had done her homework — marriage certificate, divorce filing dates, the NovaTech acquisition timeline, even a quote from an anonymous source inside Cross Technologies who said the resemblance had been "noticeable from day one."
There were photographs. One from the charity gala two years ago — Nora in the red dress, standing slightly behind Damien, half-turned away from the camera, barely visible. And one from last Tuesday's board meeting — Nora at the head of the table, sharp and certain, commanding the room.
Same woman. Different worlds.
Her phone began to ring.
Marcus. She let it ring twice before answering.
"It's out," he said.
"I know."
"Damien Cross's PR team called our office forty minutes ago. He wants a meeting. Today."
She set down her tea.
"Tell them Monday morning. Nine o'clock. My office."
"Nora —"
"Monday, Marcus."
She hung up.
She sat for a long moment in the quiet of her apartment. Outside, the city was waking up. She could hear it — the distant sound of traffic, a door closing somewhere down the hall, the ordinary machinery of a Sunday morning.
He knew now.
Or he would, as soon as his phone buzzed with the same notification hers had. As soon as someone on his team forwarded him the link. As soon as he read the headline and the pieces clicked into place — Claire. Clara. The woman across the boardroom table. The wife he had sent divorce papers to by courier.
She wondered what his face looked like right now.
She found, to her surprise, that she felt completely calm.
She had built NovaTech in secret. She had walked into his boardroom in silence. She had done everything on her own terms, at her own pace. And now the world knew.
Let it.
She picked up her tea, finally took a sip, and opened her laptop.
She had work to do.