I know which ledgers they keep in the safes, and I know why the groom’s name is currently a whispered curse in the financial districts of Singapore.
Deian felt a cold jolt of intrigue.
He had spent millions on private investigators to find dirt on CEO Park, but they had returned with nothing but polished PR reports.
Yet here was the woman who changed his linens, telling him that society husband was a fraud.
He’s hemorrhaging money, isn’t he? Deian asked, stepping into her space.
In the red by nearly 40 billion1, Elena replied smoothly.
This wedding isn’t a romance, it’s a bailout.
Minhi is marrying a sinking ship, and she doesn’t even know it.
Or perhaps she does, and she’s the one holding the plug.
De Hyan watched her.
Elena was poised, her back straight, her Korean perfect, but carrying the slight, elegant lltilt of someone who had educated herself in the libraries of the houses she cleaned.
She was the ultimate wild card.
“You’ve spent 10 years being invisible, Elena,” he whispered.
“How would you like to become the most talked about woman in this city?” I don’t want a trophy.
I want a silent partner who can smile at the bride while she counts the cracks in the groom’s foundation.
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