Ellery POV:
"You are just tired, Ellery. Eat some ice cream and relax."
Brendan scooped a spoonful of vanilla ice cream, the edges already melting into a milky puddle, and pressed the cold metal spoon against my bottom lip.
My eyes flicked to his phone, lying face down on the marble kitchen island. A faint, pulsing blue light leaked from the edge of the screen. An unread message.
Then, he moved his arm closer. A heavy, unfamiliar scent of rose perfume drifted up from his shirt cuff, invading my nostrils.
My stomach clamped down in a violent spasm. Bile rose in the back of my throat, burning my esophagus. The scent dragged me backward in time. I was ten years old again, hiding in the hallway closet, smelling that same cheap floral perfume on my father’s collar while my mother cried in the kitchen.
I swallowed the urge to vomit. I forced the corners of my mouth to curl upward into a flawless, practiced curve.
I opened my mouth stiffly and let him feed me. The vanilla ice cream slid down my throat. The cloying sweetness felt like swallowing crushed glass, tearing at my insides.
Brendan smiled, a satisfied look on his handsome face. He reached out and patted my hair. As he did, his other hand casually pushed the face-down phone two inches further away from me.
It was a small movement. A guilty movement. He had learned to use sweets to placate women from his mother. Growing up, his mother would shove hard candies into his mouth to keep him quiet while his father broke furniture in the next room. Sugar was his default cover for ugly truths.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated against the marble countertop. It was a harsh, rattling sound.
A flash of panic crossed Brendan’s eyes. His pupils dilated for a fraction of a second before he masked it.
"Silicon Valley investors," he said, pulling his hand back. "There is an urgent email I need to handle in the study."
He snatched the phone off the counter, not bothering to check the screen, and walked quickly down the hallway. His broad shoulders were tense. His strides were long, carrying the unmistakable energy of a man eager to be out of sight.
I stood perfectly still in the kitchen. I looked down at the melting ice cream in the stainless steel sink. A cold, dry laugh escaped my lips.
I untied my silk robe, letting it pool on the floor. I pulled on a set of dark, heavy cotton loungewear. I kicked off my slippers and walked barefoot down the hallway toward the study. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of my steps.
I stopped outside the heavy oak door of his study. I reached for the brass handle. It didn't turn. Locked from the inside.
Through the thick wood, I heard the low, rumbling sound of Brendan laughing. It was an intimate, relaxed sound.
I didn't linger. I turned my back on the study and walked silently into the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. I dropped to my knees and reached under the heavy bed frame. My fingers found the cold steel of the hidden biometric safe.
I pressed my thumb against the scanner. A green light flashed. I pulled out a thick, heavy backup laptop that had never been connected to our home network.
I set it on the desk and booted it up. From my pocket, I pulled out a small black USB drive. It held a custom cracking program I had written myself. Before Brendan, before this marriage, I was a data risk control analyst at a top-tier Wall Street investment bank. I hunted corporate thieves for a living. I knew how to leave no trace.
I plugged the USB into the port. Lines of green code flooded the black screen. The program forcefully bypassed the firewall on Brendan’s home network in less than thirty seconds.
I navigated directly into his company’s legal department shared cloud folder.
Rows of dense contract files populated the screen. My eyes scanned the titles rapidly. I stopped at a file named "Core Patent Transfer_Expedited".
My fingers hovered over the mouse pad. A slight tremor ran through my hand. I pressed down hard, opening the PDF.
The screen displayed the legal transfer of my AI interactive design patent. It was the patent that built his company. The document stated it was being transferred for zero compensation.
I looked at the transferee line. It was not the company name. It was Kiya Vance.
My pupils dilated. My chest tightened so hard my ribs ached. I scrolled to the bottom of the document. There, perfectly replicated, was my personal electronic signature.
My lungs stopped working. The absolute rage hit me like a physical blow to the head, making my ears ring. He was giving away my life's work to his intern.
I forced my jaw open and took a deep, dragging breath. The cold air filled my lungs, pushing down the panic.
I clicked download. I copied the PDF and the IP access logs of the forged signature straight onto my black USB drive.
A progress bar appeared. It moved agonizingly slow.
Suddenly, the floorboards outside the guest room creaked. Heavy, familiar footsteps approached.
The footsteps stopped right outside the door. I saw the shadow of Brendan’s feet under the door gap. The brass doorknob began to turn.
The progress bar hit one hundred percent.
I yanked the USB drive out and slammed the laptop shut in one fluid motion. I shoved it under the pillow on the bed.
The door clicked open. I grabbed the handle of the large wardrobe and pulled it open, burying my upper body inside.
"Ellery?" Brendan’s voice came from the doorway. He sounded confused. "Why are you in here with the lights off?"
I grabbed a thick wool blanket from the top shelf. I turned around, clutching the blanket to my chest. I relaxed the muscles in my face, letting my eyes soften into absolute, submissive gentleness.
"I was just looking for the heavy blanket," I said softly. "I felt a little cold."
Brendan stepped into the dark room. He looked at me, his eyes searching my face for a moment. Then, his shoulders relaxed. He believed the lie. He always believed I was harmless.
"I will take everything from you."
