Gaines turned his entire body around. His dark eyes locked onto Jaclyn like a sniper acquiring a target.
He was trying to detect a lie, a bluff, anything.
Jaclyn didn't flinch under his intense scrutiny. She calmly reached over, turned the knob on the stove, and killed the flame. She picked up a pair of tongs, plated the bacon and pancakes, and carried the plates to the long glass dining table.
She pulled out a chair and sat down. Her posture was relaxed, confident. She looked like a CEO preparing for a board meeting.
She gestured to the empty chair across from her.
Gaines walked slowly to the table and sat down. He rested his elbows on the glass, interlacing his fingers beneath his chin. The oppressive aura of a ruthless corporate predator radiated from him.
"Prove it," Gaines commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Don't play word games with me."
Jaclyn picked up her silver fork. She cut a small piece of pancake, placed it in her mouth, and chewed slowly.
She swallowed, then looked him dead in the eye.
"Alpha-Seven-Nine-Delta-Four-Two-Cayman," Jaclyn recited smoothly.
Gaines's pupils contracted sharply.
As a titan of the financial world, he instantly recognized the alphanumeric sequence. It was the exact formatting structure used by the most exclusive, secretive private bank in the Cayman Islands.
Jaclyn didn't stop there.
"Guy Lester uses a shell company registered in Belize to purchase forged contemporary art," she continued, her voice clinical and precise. "He inflates the appraisal value by three hundred percent, donates it to his own charity foundation, and washes the trust fund money clean through the tax write-offs."
Every detail she dropped hit Gaines like a physical punch to the gut.
This was highly classified, deeply buried financial crime data. It was the exact blind spot his own intelligence team had been trying to uncover for months. There was absolutely no way the spoiled, naive girl he married could know this.
Gaines narrowed his eyes. The muscle in his jaw ticked violently.
"If you knew all of this," Gaines demanded, his voice laced with heavy suspicion, "why have you spent the last six months screaming at me and defending them like a lunatic?"
Jaclyn lowered her eyelashes, masking the deep, ancient hatred burning in her pupils.
"When I fell down the stairs," Jaclyn lied smoothly, "I heard Cherri talking on the phone to Bradford. She slipped up. I put the pieces together."
She looked back up at him. Her eyes were wide and fiercely determined.
"I need your power, Gaines. I need your resources to take back what they stole from me."
Gaines let out a dark, mocking chuckle. He leaned back in his chair.
"And why would I help a woman who tries to escape my house every chance she gets?" he asked coldly.
Jaclyn placed her fork down on the plate. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table.
"Because I am done running," Jaclyn stated firmly. "I will play the perfect, obedient Mrs. Acevedo for the cameras. And to prove I'm not lying..."
She paused, letting the tension build.
"I want you to assign someone to watch me. Twenty-four hours a day. I want your Chief Assistant, Devin Newman, to be my personal bodyguard."
Gaines stopped breathing for a second.
Devin Newman was his most loyal, ruthless operative. Asking for Devin was like asking to wear a tracking collar. It completely destroyed the logic of a woman planning to escape.
Gaines stared at her face, searching for the trap. He found nothing but cold, hard resolve.
He slowly tapped his index finger against the glass table. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was his signature tell when calculating a massive risk.
The tapping stopped.
"Fine," Gaines said. His voice was devoid of emotion.
Jaclyn's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. A massive wave of relief washed over her. She had her foot in the door.
Gaines stood up. He towered over the table, casting a dark shadow over her.
"If I find out this is another trick," Gaines warned, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "the consequences will be worse than death."
Jaclyn smiled. It was a genuine, terrifying smile. "I know."
Gaines pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and barked an order for Devin to get to the penthouse immediately.
Thirty minutes later, the elevator doors opened. Devin Newman stepped out. He was a tall, sharp-featured man in a black suit. He looked deeply confused by the order to babysit the boss's erratic wife.
Jaclyn walked out of the bedroom. She was dressed in a sharp, black Chanel tweed suit. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
She walked right up to Devin and extended her hand.
"Good morning, Devin," she said politely.
Devin cautiously shook her hand, a shiver of unease running down his spine at her sudden, eerie calmness.
Jaclyn turned to Gaines. A dangerous spark ignited in her eyes.
"Have the driver bring the car around," Jaclyn said smoothly. "My first stop is the Lester estate. I need to pick up some... personal items."
Gaines watched her walk toward the door. His eyes darkened with a mixture of intense curiosity and a predatory thrill. The game had changed, and he was ready to watch her play.
