Allie Patterson POV:
I stared at the simple silver band on her finger. The words echoed in my skull, bouncing off the walls of my mind. *Pretty, isn't it?* That silver band was Grayson's grandmother's heirloom. Three years ago, he came home devastated, claiming he had lost it in the locker room at his gym. I had held him while he cried. I had comforted him all night.
A memory ripped through my brain. Three years ago, standing in the freezing rain, digging through public trash cans outside his gym for six hours, my hands covered in filth, desperately searching for that ring because I couldn't bear to see him sad.
The crushing humiliation and the burning rage collided in my chest. They hit critical mass. And then, instantly, the fire burned out, leaving behind a core of absolute, freezing, mechanical rationality.
I didn't scream. I didn't lunge forward to slap the smug smile off her face. I slowly lifted my chin. I looked her dead in the eyes, my expression as blank and calm as a mortician looking at a fresh corpse.
Kacey blinked. She was clearly expecting a hysterical, sobbing wife. My dead silence caught her off guard, and her victorious smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
I didn't say a single word. I reached into the pocket of my faded jeans and pulled out my phone.
I swiped up on the lock screen, opened the camera app, and quickly tapped the screen to disable the flash. I raised the phone, pointing the dual lenses directly at Kacey.
She stiffened, her eyes widening in shock. She instinctively raised her hand to shield her face. "What are you doing?!" she snapped.
I pressed the shutter button. Three rapid clicks fired in succession. I captured everything: her face, the burgundy silk pajamas, the massive pink diamond, the stolen silver heirloom, and the sweeping interior of the four-million-dollar mansion behind her.
I lowered the phone and slid it back into my pocket. My movements were crisp, efficient, and completely devoid of hesitation.
"The property deed for this house was mailed to my apartment," I said. My voice was entirely flat, stripped of any pitch or emotion.
Kacey's face drained of color. The arrogant flush in her cheeks vanished, replaced by a stark, terrified white. Panic flared in her eyes.
I didn't give her a single second to argue, explain, or beg. I turned my back on her and started walking down the stone steps.
"He doesn't love you!" Kacey yelled furiously from the doorway, her voice shrill and desperate as she lost control of the situation. "You're just a free coder!"
My worn sneaker paused on the bottom step for a microsecond. I didn't turn around. I didn't look back. I resumed my pace and walked straight to my beat-up Honda.
I grabbed the door handle, yanked it open, and threw myself into the suffocatingly hot, stuffy cabin. I slammed the heavy metal door shut behind me, sealing myself inside.
The second the latch clicked, my frozen facade shattered. I collapsed forward, burying my face against the steering wheel. My shoulders shook violently, my body racked by brutal, tearing tremors.
I gasped for air, my throat tight and burning. The tears finally broke free. They poured down my cheeks and dripped onto the cracked leather of the steering wheel, leaving dark, wet stains.
But I looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. I gave myself exactly one minute. Sixty seconds to mourn a fifteen-year lie. When the minute ticked over, I lifted my head. The tears stopped. My eyes were completely dry, filled with nothing but cold, calculated murder.
I reached into the center console, yanked out a rough paper napkin, and viciously scrubbed the moisture from my face. I adjusted the rearview mirror, making sure my expression was locked tight.
I unlocked my phone, opened the secure, encrypted album app, and immediately uploaded the three photos of Kacey to my cloud backup.
Then, I opened my text messages and tapped on Grayson's name.
The last message he sent me sat at the bottom of the screen, delivered two hours ago: *Baby, in a meeting. Call you later. Love you.*
I stared at the words *Love you*. A harsh, mocking sneer twisted my lips.
My thumbs flew across the digital keyboard, typing out a response with rapid precision.
*Come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you.*
I didn't press the send button. I held down the arrow, opened the scheduling tool, and set the text to automatically deliver at 8:00 PM tonight.
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and reached for the ignition. I twisted the key.
The Honda's engine roared to life, the exhaust sputtering loudly in the quiet, wealthy neighborhood. I threw the gearshift into reverse, slammed my foot down, and backed out of the driveway with a violent jerk, spinning the steering wheel to turn the car around.
I slammed my foot onto the gas pedal. The tires screeched against the asphalt. The car shot forward like a bullet, leaving Atherton behind, speeding directly toward downtown San Francisco.
"Come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you."
