Hailey's POV:
It was unusually quiet when I walked through the front doors of the Dorsey estate.
Normally, this massive mansion was filled with the raucous sounds of capos arguing in the study and the heavy footsteps of soldiers pacing the marble corridors.
Today, the silence was suffocating.
I walked into the sprawling kitchen.
Sarah, a young maid, was hunched in the corner, eating a small bowl of plain white rice and wilted leftovers. The second she saw me, she slid off her stool, her eyes filled with panic.
"Sit down, Sarah," I said, tossing my designer handbag onto the granite island.
"Why are you eating scraps?" I asked, frowning at her pathetic bowl. "I ordered imported Wagyu and fresh organic vegetables yesterday morning."
"Madam Cornelia took everything before heading to the airport," Sarah whispered. "She had the security guards load the coolers directly onto the private jet. She said the hired help doesn't deserve such expensive food while the family is traveling."
A wave of heat flared at the back of my neck.
Cornelia lived in a mansion I secretly bought. She walked on imported Italian marble floors that I paid for. She used my connections to treat her chronic arthritis. And yet, she had the sheer audacity to starve the people who cleaned up her messes.
My burner phone buzzed, the aggressive vibration shattering the quiet. It was an encrypted video call request.
I answered it, propping the phone against a silver fruit bowl.
Jackson's face appeared on the screen. He was flushed red, his eyes bloodshot.
"What the hell is going on?" Jackson yelled, his voice echoing through the speaker. "My black cards are declining everywhere. My plane is impounded on a runway in Kansas for unpaid fuel bills!"
I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter. "Sounds like you're having a cash flow problem, Jackson."
"Fix the glitch, immediately!" Jackson ordered. "Amber is hungry. She needs organic venison and a comfortable bed. Unlock the accounts right now."
Amber leaned into the frame, resting her chin on Jackson's shoulder. She batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at the camera, feigning innocence.
"Hailey, maybe you should transfer the primary authorization to Jackson," Amber suggested, her voice breathy. "It would be so much easier for everyone if he had direct control of the funds."
I stared at her manufactured pout.
"Authorization requires a biometric scan from the primary account holder," I said calmly. "And I am the sole account holder. Jackson's name isn't on the trust."
Jackson's eyes widened. He leaned closer to the camera, trying to project an authority he had already lost. "I am the boss of this family. I order you to unfreeze those funds right now. That is a direct order from your boss and your husband."
Husband. He still remembered he was my husband.
I looked dead into the camera.
Deep in my chest, I felt the last lingering thread of loyalty pull taut, and then snap.
"No."
Jackson stiffened, his jaw muscles jumping, his throat bobbing with an audible swallow. "What did you just say?"
"The moment you gave my seat to a whore, you violated our marriage contract," I enunciated every word. "Let your mistress pay for the jet fuel."
I reached out and pressed the red button, cutting the connection.
The screen went black, leaving only my calm reflection on the smooth glass.
Sarah was staring at me, her mouth slightly agape, her shock genuine and unfiltered.
I unzipped my handbag, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed the cash onto the granite counter. The money landed with a heavy, satisfying thud.
"Call the best steakhouse in the city," I told Sarah. "Order whatever you and the rest of the staff want. Get dessert. Get the expensive wine."
Sarah looked at the money, then looked up at me, her face pale with terror. "Madam Hailey, I can't accept this. Madam Cornelia will fire me."
"Cornelia has no power here anymore," I said, turning toward the kitchen exit. "I'm no longer the lady of the Dorsey house. I'm the landlord."
