Chapter 6
One week after the divorce filing, Alexander held a press conference.
He stood at the podium looking gaunt, wearing a suit that no longer fit quite right, and told the world that he and Rebecca were "just colleagues" and that the rumors were "greatly exaggerated."
Rebecca, meanwhile, was posting Instagram stories from the company apartment he'd given her, wearing designer pieces and tagging the Cole Industries account.
The internet tore him apart.
But the real blow came from inside.
Cole Industries' board of directors called an emergency meeting. Three of the five major investors—all of whom had come in through my connections—pulled their funding simultaneously.
Without Ashford backing, the company was bleeding money it couldn't replace.
Diane forwarded me an internal memo that had leaked: Alexander was slashing budgets, freezing salaries, and canceling the company's annual bonus structure.
Employee satisfaction cratered overnight.
And then Rebecca made her move.
With Alexander distracted and desperate, she started helping herself—using the company credit cards for shopping sprees, booking first-class flights to Paris on Cole Industries' dime, and worst of all, she bragged about it.
"Don't worry about the cost," she told a friend in a voice message that got leaked to the press. "Alexander gives me whatever I want. The company pays for it."
The headline the next day: "COLE CEO'S MISTRESS BURNS THROUGH COMPANY FUNDS WHILE EMPLOYEES FACE PAY CUTS."
I read it over my morning coffee and felt nothing.
Not satisfaction. Not pity.
Just the quiet peace of someone watching a fire they didn't start.
My phone rang. Marcus.
"Mrs.—sorry, Ms. Ashford. There's someone here to see you."
"Who?"
"He says his name is Daniel Ashford. Your cousin."
I paused.
I hadn't spoken to Daniel in five years—not since I'd left the family to prove I could make it on my own.
"Send him in."
When Daniel walked through the door, he looked exactly the same—tall, sharp-eyed, and radiating the quiet confidence of old money.
"Vivian." He smiled. "Welcome back to the family."
"I was never gone."
"No," he agreed, sitting down across from me. "But now the world knows you're one of us. And the family has a proposal."
He slid a folder across the table.
"We want you to take over as CEO of Ashford Group."
I stared at the folder.
Three years of hiding. Three years of being small. Three years of being nothing but "Alexander Cole's quiet wife."
And now—this.
I opened the folder and read the first line.
Then I looked up at Daniel and said, "When do I start?"
He stood at the podium looking gaunt, wearing a suit that no longer fit quite right, and told the world that he and Rebecca were "just colleagues" and that the rumors were "greatly exaggerated."
Rebecca, meanwhile, was posting Instagram stories from the company apartment he'd given her, wearing designer pieces and tagging the Cole Industries account.
The internet tore him apart.
But the real blow came from inside.
Cole Industries' board of directors called an emergency meeting. Three of the five major investors—all of whom had come in through my connections—pulled their funding simultaneously.
Without Ashford backing, the company was bleeding money it couldn't replace.
Diane forwarded me an internal memo that had leaked: Alexander was slashing budgets, freezing salaries, and canceling the company's annual bonus structure.
Employee satisfaction cratered overnight.
And then Rebecca made her move.
With Alexander distracted and desperate, she started helping herself—using the company credit cards for shopping sprees, booking first-class flights to Paris on Cole Industries' dime, and worst of all, she bragged about it.
"Don't worry about the cost," she told a friend in a voice message that got leaked to the press. "Alexander gives me whatever I want. The company pays for it."
The headline the next day: "COLE CEO'S MISTRESS BURNS THROUGH COMPANY FUNDS WHILE EMPLOYEES FACE PAY CUTS."
I read it over my morning coffee and felt nothing.
Not satisfaction. Not pity.
Just the quiet peace of someone watching a fire they didn't start.
My phone rang. Marcus.
"Mrs.—sorry, Ms. Ashford. There's someone here to see you."
"Who?"
"He says his name is Daniel Ashford. Your cousin."
I paused.
I hadn't spoken to Daniel in five years—not since I'd left the family to prove I could make it on my own.
"Send him in."
When Daniel walked through the door, he looked exactly the same—tall, sharp-eyed, and radiating the quiet confidence of old money.
"Vivian." He smiled. "Welcome back to the family."
"I was never gone."
"No," he agreed, sitting down across from me. "But now the world knows you're one of us. And the family has a proposal."
He slid a folder across the table.
"We want you to take over as CEO of Ashford Group."
I stared at the folder.
Three years of hiding. Three years of being small. Three years of being nothing but "Alexander Cole's quiet wife."
And now—this.
I opened the folder and read the first line.
Then I looked up at Daniel and said, "When do I start?"