I was nineteen then.

Naive, grieving, and entirely unready to inherit a massive stake in The Sterling Trust, a billion-dollar conglomerate my grandfather had built from a single steel mill.

My father, William Sterling, was a brilliant innovator, but his health was failing, and his grief over my mother had left him vulnerable to corporate sharks.

Enter Adrian Blackwell.

Adrian was brought in as a strategic partner to help modernize our holdings. He was charming, relentless, and possessed a predatory instinct that Wall Street adored.

He courted me with the same aggressive efficiency he used to execute a hostile takeover.

At first, it felt like a whirlwind romance. But the velvet glove quickly slipped, revealing the iron fist beneath.