After my husband passed away, I kept my $500 million inheritance a secret just to see who would still treat me with respect. Twenty-four hours after the funeral, my mother-in-law dragged my suitcase onto the lawn and sneered, “Now that Terrence is gone, you get nothing.” My sister-in-law laughed while filming my humiliation. I quietly picked up my muddy wedding album and said, “You’re right… I have nothing.” Six months later, at their glittering charity gala, I walked in, looked Howard straight in the eye, and said one calm sentence that made every one of them freeze…

“The company’s reputation will survive the removal of a tumor,” I replied coldly over the microphone.

Suddenly, a blur of motion caught my eye. Eleanor pushed violently past two shocked guests and rushed toward the stage.

The arrogant, vicious matriarch who had thrown my memories into the mud completely abandoned her pride. Tears streamed down her face, smearing her expensive, waterproof mascara into dark, ugly streaks.

“Audrey! Audrey, my beloved daughter-in-law!” Eleanor wailed, grabbing the edge of the stage. “I’m sorry! Please, I was just so overwhelmed with grief over Terrence’s death that I acted irrationally! I wasn’t in my right mind! We are family! Please, don’t do this to us! Don’t take everything!”

To the absolute horror of the high-society crowd watching, Eleanor Washington collapsed to her knees at my feet, sobbing hysterically.

Chapter 5: Returning the Muddy Suitcase

I looked down at the woman weeping at my feet.

I slowly, deliberately pulled my foot back a few inches, ensuring that Eleanor’s desperate, grasping hands did not touch the hem of my emerald silk gown.

“Grief?” I asked, lowering the microphone so only she, Howard, and the immediate circle around them could hear. I let out a short, cold laugh that held absolutely no warmth.

“Grief makes people cry, Eleanor,” I said, staring into her terrified, tear-streaked eyes. “Grief makes people seek comfort. Throwing your dead son’s widow out into the rain and tossing his last keepsakes into a mud puddle isn’t grief. It’s cruelty. It’s the action of a parasite realizing it has lost control of the host.”

I looked over at Chloe, who was standing frozen in the crowd, her face pale, completely stripped of her usual snark and venom.

I raised my hand and gestured to the back of the room.

“Security,” I called out, my voice clear and commanding.

Instantly, six massive, highly trained bodyguards—men hired by Mr. Vance’s firm to replace Howard’s loyalists—stepped forward from the shadows. They moved with military precision, parting the crowd effortlessly.

“Please escort these non-shareholders off the premises,” I instructed the head of security, pointing at Howard, Eleanor, and Chloe. “They are causing a scene and polluting our charitable atmosphere.”