CUTTING THE CORD: my ex-husband regret

mine from across the room. By the time I finally slipped out of the event and into the backseat of the waiting town car, I was on edge, my thoughts racing in

t, confirming our lunch at a high-end restaurant in Midtown. I dressed carefully, choosing a sleek, navy dress that struck the perfect balance between professional and approachable. As I applied my makeup, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was preparing for a battle, rather than a business meeting. By the time I arrived at the restaurant, I had steeled myself for whatever was to come. The maître d' led me to a private dining room at the back, where Oliver was already seated, reviewing what looked like financial reports. He looked up as I entered, and for a moment, I was struck by how different he was from the image I had built in my mind. Oliver Grant was tall, with a commanding presence that seemed to fill the room. His dark hair was impeccably styled, and his sharp, tailored suit hinted at the wealth and power he wielded with ease. But it was his eyes that caught my attention-intelligent, calculating, and with a hint of something I couldn't quite place. He stood as I approached, extending his hand with a charming smile. "Emily Carter. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person." "Likewise," I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, his smile warm, but I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes assessed me, as if he were weighing my every move. We exchanged pleasantries as we settled into our seats, and for a while, the conversation was light, focused on the success of NexTech and the state of the industry. But as the waiter brought out our meals, Oliver leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. "Emily," he began, his voice smooth and confident, "I'm not one to beat around the bush. Your company has made quite a splash, and I see a lot of potential for growth. But to take NexTech to the next level, you're going to need more than just a great product. You need the right partnerships, the right backing." I nodded, my heart rate picking up slightly as I sensed the direction this conversation was headed. "I believe that with my resources and your vision, we could create something truly groundbreaking," Oliver continued, his gaze never leaving mine. "But I also know that you're fiercely independent, and I respect that. This wouldn't be about me taking over-it would be a collaboration, with you at the helm. All I ask is that you keep an open mind." His words were carefully chosen, designed to appeal to my ambitions while assuaging my fears. And yet, as he spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this offer than he was letting on. Oliver Grant was a master strategist, a man who always had an agenda. The question was, what was it this time? I took a sip of water, buying mys