I woke up in the company medical room after collapsing, only to hear the secretary whisper, “Are you sure she took it?” Then my husband laughed and said, “Relax. By tomorrow morning, everything will be ours.”

Six months after the trial, the glass sign on the front of our headquarters was officially replaced.

No longer did it read Whitmore Biologics.

In bold, elegant letters, the new sign read: Vane Industries.

We had successfully completed the $80 million merger, not as a compromised firm fighting off a hostile takeover, but as the undisputed leader in genomic research. Our stock price had reached an all-time high, driven by the successful Phase II trials of our actual gene-editing therapy—the real Vane-Project.

I stood in my new office on the top floor, looking out over the city skyline.

The physical weakness from the poisoning was long gone, replaced by a deep, unshakeable strength. I had survived the worst betrayal a person could experience, and I had built something stronger from the ruins.

Daniel Pierce walked in, carrying two glasses of sparkling cider.

“No blue crystal stems, I promise,” he said with a smile, handing me a glass.

I laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Thank you, Daniel. For everything.”