Chloe stepped into my peripheral vision. She was wearing a stunning, champagne-colored silk dress—a dress paid for by the very credit cards I had quietly subsidized. She crouched down near my face. The sharp, cloying scent of her expensive perfume aggressively mixed with the metallic smell of my split lip.
“Still pretending she’s innocent,” Chloe whispered, tilting her head. “Still playing the silent martyr.” She stood up and carefully placed a hand over her flat stomach. “Julian, darling, could you have the maid bring me some sparkling water? The baby simply cannot stand the smell of your scotch tonight. It’s making me terribly nauseous.”
Julian’s face softened instantly into a sickening display of devotion. “Of course, my love.” He turned his cold eyes back to me. “I’m done carrying dead weight, Victoria. I built this empire from nothing. I rescued you from obscurity, from whatever pathetic, impoverished life you were living in that small town, to be a quiet, grateful wife. And you are a liability.”
He reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a thick, legal document and a heavy gold fountain pen. He threw them onto the marble floor. The paper slid and stopped inches from my trembling hands.
“Sign it,” Julian demanded. “It’s a post-nuptial amendment and a non-disclosure agreement. You forfeit any claim to my assets, and you keep your mouth shut about tonight. Sign it, or I swear I will have my good friend Chief Miller at the LAPD drag you out of here in handcuffs for trespassing.”
I looked at the document. My hands were shaking so violently that when I grabbed the paper, my bloodied thumb left a stark, crimson smear across the signature line. A bloody contract for a broken marriage.
My vision blurred from a sudden, terrifying, absolute clarity. The last lingering shred of my pathetic, hopeful delusion evaporated into ash. I reached into the pocket of my ruined dress and pulled out my phone. I dialed a private, heavily encrypted satellite number.
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