Jenna's POV
The champagne cork popped, and my team erupted in cheers.
To Morrison Marketing! Maya raised her plastic cup, her dark eyes sparkling. And to Jenna, who just landed the biggest client in our company's history!
I forced a smile as five people I'd built this company with clinked their cups against mine. The tiny Brooklyn office felt warm with their laughter, but something cold twisted in my stomach. The Hartley account was huge—six figures, year-long contract. It should feel like victory.
So why did I feel like I was standing on the edge of a cliff?
Speech! called out James, our designer, grinning at me over his laptop.
I don't do speeches, I said, but couldn't help smiling for real this time. You all know that. Just... thank you. For believing in this crazy dream when it was just me and a laptop in my apartment.
And now look at us, Maya said, squeezing my shoulder. Six employees, twenty clients, and growing every month. You did this, Jenna.
We did this, I wanted to say. But my phone buzzed in my pocket before I could respond—my lawyer's number flashing across the screen.
Everything inside me went still.
Robert never called after five PM unless something was catastrophically wrong.
I need to take this, I said, my voice sounding far away. Keep celebrating. You've earned it.
I stepped into my private office and closed the door, fingers trembling as I answered. Robert?
Jenna. His voice was tight. Professional. The voice he used when delivering bad news. I need you to sit down.
My legs moved on their own, sinking into my desk chair. Through the glass wall, I could see my team laughing, completely unaware that my world was about to shatter.
What happened?
Your company has been sold.
The words didn't make sense. I heard them, but my brain couldn't process them into meaning.
That's... that's impossible. I own Morrison Marketing. I built it from nothing—
You sold minority shares to investors three years ago when you needed capital, Robert said gently. Remember? There was a buyout clause in those contracts.
Ice flooded my veins. No. I read those contracts. That clause required my approval—
It required majority shareholder approval. The investors you sold to? They sold their shares six months ago to a company called Meridian Holdings. You never received notification because Meridian buried it in subsidiary paperwork. It's legal, Jenna. Barely, but legal.
The office spun around me. Three years ago, I'd been desperate. The company was bleeding money, and those investors had seemed like salvation. I'd read every word of those contracts, but I'd been so focused on surviving that maybe—maybe I'd missed something.
Who is Meridian Holdings? My voice cracked. What do they want?
I don't know. They're a shell corporation—almost impossible to trace. But they've exercised the buyout clause. As of this morning, they own controlling interest in Morrison Marketing.
Controlling interest. I repeated the words like they were in a foreign language. So I'm... what? Fired from my own company?
Not fired. But you're no longer the primary owner. Robert's pause lasted too long. Jenna, there's more.
How could there possibly be more?
The new owner wants to meet with you. Tomorrow morning. Nine AM sharp.
My laugh came out broken, almost hysterical. Let me guess—they're going to fire me in person? How considerate.
I don't think so. If they wanted you gone, they'd have handled this through lawyers. Requesting a face-to-face meeting means they want something from you.
Leverage, I thought bitterly. They wanted to squeeze whatever value they could from Morrison Marketing before destroying it. Probably strip our client list, poach our best employees, gut everything I'd spent five years building.
Where? I whispered.
Ashford Industries headquarters. Fifty-second floor. The new owner's executive assistant sent the details an hour ago.
The name hit me like a fist to the chest.
Ashford.
No. No, it couldn't be
Jenna? Are you still there?
What did you say? My voice came out strangled. What was the name?
Ashford Industries. You know, the multi-billion dollar conglomerate? Tech, medical research, real estate. One of the biggest companies in
I know what Ashford Industries is.
Because five years ago, I was supposed to marry the man who owned it.
Five years ago, I'd left Kieran Ashford standing at the altar in front of three hundred guests, with nothing but a handwritten note and a shattered heart.
And now he'd bought my company.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone. Through the glass wall, I watched Maya throw her head back laughing at something James said. She had no idea that in twenty-four hours, everything we'd built could be gone.
Jenna, I need you to listen carefully, Robert said. Ashford Industries doesn't make small acquisitions. If they bought Morrison Marketing, they have a plan. You need to go into that meeting prepared for
I'll be there, I interrupted, my voice hollow. Send me the details.
I hung up before he could say anything else.
For a long moment, I just sat there, staring at my reflection in the dark computer screen. The woman looking back at me was pale, wide-eyed, terrified.
You left me at the altar, Kieran had said in the one voicemail he'd left before I blocked his number. His voice had been raw with pain and fury. You destroyed me, Jenna. One day, you'll understand how that feels.
Now I did.
My phone buzzed with an email notification. The meeting details from Ashford Industries' executive assistant.
Subject: Meeting Confirmation - Ms. Morrison & Mr. AshfordTime: 9:00 AMLocation: Ashford Industries, Executive FloorAttendees: Kieran Ashford, CEO
My vision blurred. Five years. Five years of running, of rebuilding, of trying to forget the man I'd loved more than my own life.
And tomorrow morning, I would walk into his office and face the consequences of breaking both our hearts.
The champagne celebration continued beyond my office door. My team had no idea that by this time tomorrow, we might all be unemployed.
I pulled up my email and stared at Kieran's name on the screen.
What are you going to do to me? I thought. What revenge could possibly be worse than what I've already done to myself?
My phone buzzed again. Another email, this one from an unknown sender.
I opened it with shaking fingers.
From: [email protected]: Tomorrow
Don't be late, Jenna. We have five years to discuss.
- K
The ice in my veins turned to fire.
Tomorrow, I would face the man whose heart I'd shattered.
Tomorrow, I would learn exactly what Kieran Ashford's revenge looked like.
And something told me that losing my company would be just the beginning.