His hands curled.
“Chloe, you’re doing this because you’re angry.”
“I’m doing this because you’re incompetent.”
His eyes flashed.
Then, slowly, he changed tactics.
The anger melted into pain.
The performance began.
“Baby,” he said softly. “Please. I made a mistake.”
The room went still.
I looked at him.
“Do not call me that.”
He stepped closer anyway.
“My mother pushed me. You know how she is. I panicked. I was embarrassed. But I love you.”
I almost admired the speed of it.
A man could slap you on Saturday and swear he loved you on Monday if the bank accounts were frozen fast enough.
I opened another folder.
This one was not for the company.
It was personal.
Photos.
Hotel reservations.
Texts.
A credit card charge from St. Barts.
A clinic appointment under the name of his mistress, Vanessa Cole.
Ethan saw the top photo and stopped breathing.
I placed a small recorder on the table and pressed play.
His voice filled the room.
“Once Chloe signs the postnup, Mom can push her out. She’ll be too embarrassed to fight. We keep the money, I marry Vanessa, and everyone wins.”
