Resignation Approved

Listening to Maeve pace the room, the tight knots in Sloane’s shoulders finally began to loosen. A soft laugh broke past her lips, laced with bitter resignation.

"A man's infidelity has nothing to do with a woman's competence," Sloane murmured, leaning her head back against the sofa cushions. "Even the strongest chain can't hold back a dog determined to run."

Maeve stopped pacing and pointed a manicured finger at her. "Exactly. Let the dog run. Once this relentless thirty-day countdown on your divorce is up, we are out of there. Not one more minute wasted on that man. Let him choke on his regrets."

Sloane nodded slowly. The haze of heartbreak had cleared, leaving behind a sharp, cold focus. "I need to sever all lingering ties with Declan. I originally thought about starting my own firm right away, but after taking inventory of my resources, almost every contact I have is tangled up with him. I refuse to remain connected to him after the divorce. My immediate plan is to secure a new position, rebuild my professional network from the ground up, and start fresh when the timing is right."

Maeve’s eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm. She dropped onto the sofa beside Sloane. "That makes sense. If you're looking for a corporate powerhouse to launch your comeback... what about the Sinclair Group?"

Sloane raised an eyebrow. The Sinclair Group was a formidable entity. Their enigmatic leader, Roman Sinclair, was a legend in the business world. He was the third son of the fifth generation of the elite Sinclair family, known for his ruthless efficiency and ghostly public presence. Almost no photos of him existed online. He never granted media interviews. Yet, under his iron-fisted leadership, the Sinclair Group had doubled its market share in a mere three years, evolving into an untouchable conglomerate.

"The Sinclair Group," Sloane repeated, a spark of genuine intrigue warming her chest. "They are ruthless. If I went there, I wouldn't just be fetching coffee."

"You could make a massive impact," Maeve urged, grabbing Sloane's hands. "You could crush The Sterling Group's numbers. Are you interested?"

A faint smile touched Sloane’s lips, her practical nature quickly grounding her soaring thoughts. "You are giving me way too much credit, Maeve. Offers from the Sinclair Group aren't handed out like flyers on a street corner."

Maeve let out an exasperated sigh. "Have you been under Declan's thumb for so long that you forgot who you are? You were a business prodigy."

Sloane fell silent, letting the truth of those words wash over her. "We will see," she said softly. "I have to finish my handover at the Sterling Group first. That is my priority."

Maeve checked the clock on the wall. "True enough. I'll go order us some dinner—"

A shrill ringtone abruptly shattered the quiet evening. Sloane glanced at her phone screen. It was Tobias, Declan’s executive assistant.

She answered, her tone flat. "What is it?"

"Ms. Mercer," Tobias said, his voice tight with panic. "Are you available? Could you come to the office right away?"

"What is this about?" she demanded.

Tobias hesitated, the line crackling with tension. "It is difficult to explain over the phone. You will understand when you get here."

Through the receiver, Sloane caught the distinct sound of muffled, frantic sobbing in the background. She didn't press for details. Disconnecting the call, she grabbed her coat, offered Maeve a quick apology, and headed out into the night.

The towering glass structure of The Sterling Group was mostly empty by the time Sloane arrived. She swiped her badge and rode the elevator up to the executive floor. The silver doors slid open, revealing a deeply satisfying sight.

Gianna Vance stumbled out of Declan’s private office. Her designer makeup was smeared, her eyes swollen and red from crying. She sniffled loudly, clutching a crumpled tissue, looking nothing like the triumphant heiress who had stolen Sloane's project that morning.

Sloane’s lips curved into a knowing smirk.

Tobias rushed forward to meet her in the hallway. "Ms. Mercer. Mr. Sterling is waiting for you."

Sloane bypassed the assistant and pushed open the heavy oak doors to Declan's office. He stood behind his sprawling mahogany desk, his shoulders rigid, a deep scowl etched into his features. Without a word of greeting, he snatched up a thick folder and thrust the Stratton Group contract across the polished wood toward her.

"Their representative will only sign with you," Declan claimed, his tone laced with heavy frustration. "I need you to go there again and handle this."

Sloane made no move to take the folder. Instead, she let her bright, intelligent eyes cut straight through his pathetic facade. She tilted her head, her voice dripping with calculated mockery. "It is not that they will only sign with me. It is that your little assistant messed up the project, right?"

Declan’s jaw clenched. "I told you, nothing is happening between Gianna and me. She is just—"

"I am not interested in whatever is going on between you and her," Sloane interrupted, her voice turning to ice. She turned her body toward the door. "Since you have already taken this project from me, it is no longer my concern. Figure it out yourself."

"Sloane!" Declan barked. Refusing to be dismissed, he rounded the desk in two long strides and reached out, forcefully grabbing her arm.

The moment his fingers clamped down on her fabric, a visceral wave of disgust crashed through Sloane. She jerked backward, yanking her arm out of his grip as if she had been branded by something foul.

"Don't touch me," she snapped. The hardened edge in her voice echoed off the glass walls, sharp enough to draw blood.

Declan stared at his empty hand, his expression turning grim and thoroughly agitated. He stepped toward her again, desperate to regain control. "Sloane, be reasonable. I have explained this to you a hundred times. Gianna is no threat to your position here. She is young and inexperienced. Do you really want me to kick her out of the company over one mistake?"

Sloane stared at the man she had loved for seven years. She felt exhausted by his endless gaslighting, tired of the constant emotional manipulation. She dropped her gaze to the ruined Stratton file resting on the edge of the desk.

"I will clean up this mess," she stated, her tone shifting into pure, transactional dominance. "But on one condition."

Declan blinked, caught off guard by her sudden compliance. "What condition?"

"I sent my formal resignation letter to your email an hour ago," Sloane said. "Sign it now."

Declan stared at her, deeply misinterpreting the cold fire burning in her eyes. "You really want to resign?" he asked, his voice softening with relief. "Why?"

"Why not?" Sloane replied with casual indifference. "Being a wealthy socialite sounds rather nice. I can travel the world, go shopping every day. It is certainly better than being disrespected at this company."

Declan let out a long breath, his posture relaxing. "Who would dare disrespect you at the company?" he asked, his tone dropping into a sickeningly affectionate register.

Sloane offered a hollow smile. He was oblivious. He had no idea about the vicious, soul-crushing office gossip she endured daily. The whispers that she worked tirelessly only to be handed the insignificant title of personal secretary. The rumors that she had schemed her way into his bed, while he had no real intention of treating her as an equal.

She had no desire to enlighten him. "I am tired," she said coolly. "I just want to rest."

"I will approve your resignation request right now," Declan agreed, walking back to his laptop and typing quickly. "Once the Stratton Group project is finalized, you can take a good break."

Sloane stepped forward and picked up the contract.

Seeing her take the file, Declan felt a surge of triumph. He moved toward her, desperately wanting to pull her into a comforting embrace, eager to play the role of the benevolent husband.

But Sloane was already moving away. As she turned her back to him and walked toward the exit, her neutral mask melted away, replaced by an expression of pure, cold determination. The resignation was officially approved. The divorce agreement was secretly signed and hidden away in her bag. She just had to survive this final month of breathing the same air as him.

Back in the quiet sanctuary of her own office, Sloane tossed the ruined contract onto her desk. She quickly dialed her contact at the Stratton Group, leveraging her personal connections to smooth over Gianna’s disastrous performance. Within minutes, she had rescheduled the crucial meeting at the exclusive Mirage Club, the most prestigious venue in Ironbound City.

At six-thirty, the sky outside her window had darkened into a deep violet. Armed with the modified contracts, Sloane grabbed her purse and descended to the underground parking lot. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the concrete floor.

But as she approached her assigned parking spot, her stride faltered.

Right beside her car, a sleek luxury vehicle sat idling, its headlights piercing the dim garage. Declan was sitting in the driver's seat, his hands resting lazily on the steering wheel. Sitting perched right beside him in the passenger seat was Gianna.

Rolling down the window, he looked at Sloane. "Get in. I'm coming with you."