Chapter 161

• In the days following my return to the city, the once-quiet entrance of the Sinclair Penthouse a sleek, architectural marvel perched above the financial district became a revolving door of high heels, designer handbags, and thinly veiled curiosity.
• The wives of CEOs, senators, and board directors women who previously hadn’t spared me more than a whispered comment over champagne flutes during charity galas now found compelling reasons to drop by. It wasn’t Logan’s edict that had spurred the sudden interest. It was me. The same Cassandra Sinclair who had risen from the wreckage of a public, high-stakes divorce with the poise of a phoenix in Prada.
• I wasn’t just the daughter of the late Victor Sinclair anymore. I was a force a woman who had walked away from my former husband’s media empire, restructured a crumbling international investment wing, and returned with profits, power, and a reputation that demanded respect.