Before I ever met Derek at that charity gala, his mother, Patricia, had investigated me. She had mapped my assets, my vulnerabilities, and the recent loss of my father. She was the architect. “She’s grieving and rich,” one email from Patricia to Derek read. “Play the protective anchor. Once you have the ring, she’ll hand over the reins. We need that software equity before the syndicate calls in your debt.”
My entire relationship, my supposed fairytale romance, had been nothing more than a calculated corporate acquisition.
“Plug in the recorder,” I ordered, tearing the tiny pearl button from my dress.
Harper connected it. “Uploading to Olivia’s secure server now,” she said, her fingers moving rapidly over the keys. Olivia was my attorney, currently waiting in an unmarked black car two blocks away.
Progress: 12%… 25%…
Suddenly, the doorknob rattled.
Harper froze. We both stared at the heavy wooden door.
“Claire.” Derek’s voice came through the door, muffled but edged with something terrifying. “Open the door.”
“I’m changing!” I called, my voice shaking despite my effort to control it.
“Open the damn door, Claire. Now.”
Progress: 45%… 60%…
“Give me five minutes!”
I heard another voice outside. It wasn’t Derek. It was the venue manager.
“Sir, I can’t give you the master key…”
“My wife is in there, and she’s having a panic attack! She threatened to hurt herself!” Derek shouted, his voice perfectly imitating desperate concern. “Give me the key before she does something stupid!”
My blood went cold. He was creating the story he needed. If he hurt me inside this room, he could claim I had done it to myself during a hysterical episode.
A metal key slid into the lock.
“Harper, block it!” I screamed.
