Mr. Russo had told me he needed a week to pull the legal files. A week I simply didn’t have.
My last remaining hope rested entirely on my father. He built the Blake empire from the ground up. He was my blood. He would protect me.
I drove straight to the family estate. The massive mahogany front doors stood unlocked, a habit my father never broke. I slipped inside, the grand foyer dark and perfectly quiet. I headed straight for the east wing. My father always worked late in his study.
I rounded the corner. A sliver of golden light spilled onto the hallway runner. The heavy oak door of the study was cracked open.
“Are the Cyprus transfers complete?” my father asked.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
“Every last cent,” Nathan replied. The unmistakable clink of ice hitting a crystal tumbler followed. “Arthur at the trust tried to stall, but I pushed it through. He doesn’t have the spine to challenge me directly.”
“Nathan, Vicky seems to be checking the accounts recently,” my father’s voice drifted through the gap. It carried a raspy, cold edge. “She was asking Arthur questions this morning. Keep your actions clean.”
I pressed my spine against the hallway wall. The air in my lungs vanished.
“Dad, relax,” Nathan scoffed. “You worry too much.”
“I worry about the timeline. If she flags the trust fund depletion before the ink dries, the SEC will freeze everything.”
“They won’t,” Nathan said, his tone arrogant and dismissive. “The money from mortgaging the Bordeaux vineyard is already wired to the new project’s account. It’s untraceable. Buried under three shell companies.”
My stomach violently contracted. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.
“She loved that vineyard,” my father stated flatly. No anger. No sympathy. Just an observation on a spreadsheet.
“And she’ll love the new summer house I buy her next year to make up for it,” Nathan fired back. “Once the Blake and Hale corporate merger is complete, we secure the monopoly. We cash out. She gets to keep playing house.”
“Just make sure she doesn’t interfere. The board is already jittery about the stock valuation.”
“Interfere?” Nathan laughed. A sharp, mocking sound that echoed off the mahogany walls. “Even if Vicky finds out the whole truth tomorrow, what is she going to do? She’ll just have to live out her life with the title of ‘rich wife.’ Her naive personality can’t handle the board of directors. She’s completely clueless.”
“She is a necessary stepping stone,” my father agreed. “The merger requires her shares. Keep her happy. Keep her blind.”
“Consider it done. I’ll take her shopping this weekend. That always shuts her up.”
“What about the assistant?” my father asked suddenly.
“Chloe?” Nathan replied. “She’s handling the offshore routing. She’s useful.”
“She’s a liability. You’re getting sloppy, Nathan. Bringing her into your marital home? If Victoria catches you, the prenuptial agreement triggers.”
“Victoria won’t catch anything. I told you, she trusts me blindly. She thinks I’m out there building our future.”
“Ensure she doesn’t. The moment the merger documents are signed next Friday, her shares transfer to my holding company. After that, I don’t care what you do with her.”
“I’ll probably just file for divorce,” Nathan mused. “Give her a modest settlement to keep her quiet. She won’t fight it. She doesn’t have the stomach for a public scandal.”
The nausea hit me like a freight train.
I spun around and bolted down the hall. I shoved the guest bathroom door open and collapsed over the porcelain sink.
My stomach heaved. I gagged, coughing violently, but only brought up a few mouthfuls of bitter acid.
I gripped the edges of the marble counter. My knuckles turned stark white.
My own father. The man who taught me how to ride a bike. The man who gave me away at the altar.
Take care of my little girl, he had told Nathan that day.
Now, those words twisted into a sickening joke. He wasn’t handing me over to be loved. He was handing over the keys to the vault. He allowed his son-in-law to cannibalize his own daughter’s assets just to cash out through a corporate merger.
To him, I wasn’t a daughter. I was a marriage tool. A blank check to fund his exit strategy.
I turned on the faucet. I splashed freezing water onto my face, shivering as the droplets ran down my neck.
I raised my head and stared into the mirror.
A ghost stared back at me. My skin lacked all color. Dark shadows bruised the hollows under my eyes.
But the tears I expected to fall never came.
Instead, the warm, trusting light in my eyes hardened. The affection died, inch by inch, replaced by a sheet of solid ice.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
I bypassed Mr. Russo’s contact. The law wouldn’t save me now. The law was too slow, too civilized for the monsters sitting in the next room.
I scrolled to the very bottom of my hidden directory. A number I hadn’t dialed in five years.
Julian.
The undisputed king of the Beverly Hills underground. And the one man Nathan feared more than death itself.
I tapped the call button.
The line rang twice.
“Who is this?” a deep, gravelly voice answered.
“It’s Victoria.”
A heavy silence stretched across the line. The faint sound of a lighter flicking open echoed through the speaker.
“Victoria Blake,” Julian finally murmured. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Now there is a ghost I never expected to hear from.”
“I need a job done, Julian.”
“You married the golden boy. You left my world behind. You made it very clear five years ago that my methods were too dirty for your pristine life.”
“My pristine life was a lie.”
“Is that so?” he challenged. “Trouble in paradise?”
“I want Nathan penniless,” I demanded, my voice steady and hollow. “I want the Blake family to change hands. I want every asset, every share, and every dollar stripped away from them.”
“You’re talking about burning down your own empire,” Julian noted.
“I’m talking about taking out the trash.”
Julian laughed again. The sound sent a dark thrill down my spine. “That kind of destruction requires a lot of manpower. A lot of risk. Tell me, Victoria, can you afford this kind of payment?”
I looked down at my left hand.
The five-carat diamond caught the harsh bathroom light. The symbol of my imprisonment.
I grabbed the platinum band and yanked it off my finger. The metal scraped against my knuckle, leaving a red mark behind.
“I can afford it,” I said.
I held the ring over the sink drain. I let it go.
The metal clattered against the pipes, disappearing into the dark plumbing forever.
“What exactly is your currency, sweetheart?” Julian asked.
“I want their lives.”
