The heavy roar of the private jet’s engines died down as the cabin door swung open. Julian Vance descended the stairs, his tailored black suit and unbuttoned collar contrasting sharply with the blinding heat of the tarmac.
Isabella snapped to attention. She smoothed her designer dress, instantly snapping on a predatory, practiced smile. This was her moment to solidify her reign.
Before she could speak, a little boy in a striped shirt darted past her legs, his blue backpack bouncing. “Daddy!” he shrieked, sprinting toward the billionaire.
Isabella’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. She stepped confidently into Julian’s path, quickly adjusting the frame of her oversized sunglasses. “Mr. Vance! It is an absolute honor. I’m Isabella, your newly appointed Media Director—”
Julian didn’t even blink. He walked straight past her, leaving her talking to empty air.
He strode directly toward the gray-clad woman holding Isabella’s beige handbag. Maya. Isabella scoffed inwardly. *Is he going to reprimand the help?*
Instead, Julian’s icy demeanor vanished. He reached out, gently taking Maya’s hands. Isabella’s heavy luxury bag fell from Maya’s fingers, hitting the concrete with a pathetic thud.
“Thank you for bringing him,” Julian murmured, his voice thick with devotion. He pulled the ‘maid’ into a fierce, protective embrace, kissing the side of her head. “The flight was hell. I missed you both so much.”
Isabella’s jaw unhinged. She yanked her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, her eyes wide with unadulterated horror. “*You’re*… you’re his wife?!” she stammered, her shrill voice cracking.
Julian turned slowly. The warmth in his eyes instantly froze into a lethal glare. He took in Isabella’s panicked expression, then glanced at the discarded handbag at his wife’s feet.
“You *were* the new Media Director,” Julian corrected, his voice a razor-sharp, authoritative whip that echoed across the runway. “As of this second, you’re fired. Get off my tarmac.”
Maya rested her head against Julian’s chest, offering Isabella a soft, almost pitying smile.
“By the way, Isabella,” Maya said gently, smoothing the white apron of her gray dress. “I don’t clean the houses. I own the holding company that just bought your agency. Consider this your final performance review.”