Chapter 3

Dessie POV

I stood in the hallway, my hand hovering over the cold brass of the doorknob to Craig's study.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a war drum signaling a battle I wasn't sure I was ready to fight.

I pushed the door open.

The room smelled of expensive leather and stale cigar smoke. It was a heavy, masculine scent that used to make me feel safe, wrapped in his protection. Now, it just smelled like deception.

I wasn't supposed to be here. Craig kept this room locked, a shrine to his own importance.

But I knew where he hid the spare key.

It was inside the hollowed-out spine of *The Art of War* on the bookshelf in the corridor. A cliché. Craig was nothing if not predictable in his arrogance.

I moved to the desk, my footsteps silent on the plush rug.

Papers were scattered across the mahogany surface. He was usually meticulous, bordering on obsessive. The chaos meant he was rushing.

I shuffled through the stack. Shipping manifests. Bribes for the port authority. The usual sins.

Then I saw it.

A photograph. It was tucked haphazardly under a blueprint for a new casino project.

It was Craig and Chanel. They were on a boat, the ocean blurring in the background.

She was wearing a bikini, her head thrown back in raucous laughter. His hand rested possessively on her thigh.

But it wasn't the intimacy that stopped my breath in my throat. It was the digital date stamp on the bottom corner.

July 4th.

That was the weekend he told me he was in Chicago, dealing with a union strike. He had called me every night, whispering how much he missed me, how hard he was working for us.

All while he was soaking up the sun with her.

My fingers trembled as I slid the photo aside. Underneath lay a document printed on thick, cream-colored legal paper.

*Asset Transfer Agreement.*

I scanned the lines, my vision blurring as the legalese translated into betrayal. It was a transfer of ownership for the penthouse, the lake house, and the offshore accounts.

All of them were being moved from our joint trust into a sole proprietorship under his name.

And at the bottom... my signature.

It was a perfect forgery. The loop of the 'D', the sharp, aggressive slant of the 'H'.

He had practiced. He had studied my hand so he could cut it off.

A noise from the hallway froze the blood in my veins. Voices.

Panic surged. I scrambled under the heavy oak desk, pulling my knees tight to my chest. The space was cramped and smelled of dust and floor polish.

I held my breath until my lungs burned.

\ The door opened. Heavy footsteps echoed on the hardwood before muting on the rug. Two pairs.

"She suspects nothing," Craig's voice said. It was calm, terrifyingly confident. "She's busy playing the grieving wife over a marriage that's been dead for years."

"And the prenup?"

Another voice. Marcus, his lawyer. A weasel in a three-piece suit.

"Voided once the assets are transferred," Craig said. I heard the clink of crystal against crystal. He was pouring a drink. "Once I marry Chanel, the Senator's influence will protect the new holdings. Dessie will be left with whatever allowance I decide to give her."

"She's smart, Craig," Marcus warned, his voice low. "She planned Chimera."

"She *was* smart," Craig corrected, the ice in his glass clinking. "Now she's just... tired. She's soft. She thinks I'm her protector. She doesn't realize I'm the wolf."

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. He didn't just want to leave me. He wanted to destroy me. He wanted to strip me of everything I had built, everything I was.

"What about the girl?" Marcus asked. "Chanel. Is she ready?"

"She's young," Craig laughed, a dark, dismissive sound. "She does what she's told. Unlike Dessie. Dessie asks too many questions. She has too many opinions. Chanel just wants to be Queen."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted the copper tang of blood. I wasn't a person to him. I was an outdated model of a phone he wanted to upgrade.

"Make sure the papers are filed by Friday," Craig commanded. "I want this done before the charity gala. I'm going to announce the engagement there."

"That's bold," Marcus said. "Divorcing and engaging in the same week?"

"I write the rules, Marcus," Craig said. "I don't follow them."

They left. The door clicked shut, sealing the room in silence.

I crawled out from under the desk. My legs were shaking so badly I had to grab the chair for support. I felt dirty. I felt violated.

I grabbed my phone. My fingers fumbled as I dialed Elek.

"I need out," I whispered. "Now."

"Did you find proof?" Elek asked immediately.

"I found everything," I said, my voice cracking. "He forged my signature. He's stealing everything. And he's going to announce his engagement to the Senator's daughter on Saturday."

"Okay," Elek said. His voice was a calm anchor in the hurricane. "We move fast. But we need to be smart. You need to pretend. Can you do that?"

I wiped my face. "I can do anything."

And for the first time in months, I believed it.

My phone buzzed in my hand. The screen lit up.

*Hubby.*

I stared at the name. I needed to change that contact.

I took a deep breath, forcing the tremor out of my hands, and answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, babe," Craig said. His voice was dripping with fake honey. "I'm going to be late. Family business is exploding. You know how it is."

"I know," I said, pitching my voice to a perfect, naive softness. "Is everything okay?"

"Just stressful. I'm doing this for us, you know. For our future."

The lie was so bold it almost made me laugh.

"I know you are," I said. "You're so good to me, Craig."

"I try," he said, soaking up the praise. "Listen, I wired some money to your personal account. Buy a new dress for the gala. I want you to look stunning."

"I will," I said. "I'll look unforgettable."

"Good girl. Love you."

"Bye."

I hung up. I didn't say it back. I couldn't.

I walked back to the desk. The shaking had stopped. In its place was a cold, hard clarity.

I took pictures of the documents. I took pictures of the photo. I recorded a video of the lawyer's briefcase which he had left on the chair, zooming in on the file labeled *Project: Replacement*.

I wasn't soft. I wasn't tired.

I was the architect of his greatest victories. And now, I was going to be the architect of his ruin.

I put a protective hand on my stomach.

"He thinks he's the wolf," I whispered to the darkness.

He forgot that wolves travel in packs. And he just kicked us out of his.