Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Aimee Ramirez POV:

I returned to the penthouse the next morning. The air was thick with the ghost of our last supper; the scent of roasted duck and wilted roses hung like a shroud. I was playing the part of the defeated wife, returning to the scene of her surrender.

Kyle was already there, pacing the living room, a man energized by his own brilliance. He saw me and his face relaxed into a confident smile.

"There you are," he said, as if I were a pet that had wandered off and finally found its way home. "I was worried."

"Where else would I go?" I asked, my voice hollow. I allowed my shoulders to slump, my gaze to fall to the floor. I was giving him the performance he expected: a woman broken, with nowhere else to turn.

"Exactly." He gestured to a sleek leather portfolio on the glass coffee table. "The papers are here. Our financial advisor is on standby. We sign, he executes the transfer. It'll all be done within the hour."

I walked over to the table, my movements slow, hesitant. Inside the portfolio were two sets of documents. The dissolution of our marriage, and the dissolution of our financial trust. One was a dagger to my heart, the other, a dagger to his empire.

"It feels so... final," I whispered, running a trembling finger over his signature line.

"It's a reset, Aimee. Not an ending," he said, his voice a smooth balm of lies. He came to stand behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. I had to fight the urge to recoil. His touch felt like a spider's. "Look, I know this is hard. But in five years, we'll be laughing about this on the deck of our yacht. This is just a storm we have to weather. Together."

A storm. He had no idea of the tempest I was about to unleash.

I sat down, picked up the pen, and pulled the trust agreement toward me. As I did, my hand began to shake, a tremor that started in my fingers and radiated up my arm. My breath hitched. The room began to tilt, the edges of my vision blurring into a dark, swirling tunnel. It wasn't entirely an act. The stress, the sleepless night, the sheer audacity of his betrayal-it was manifesting as a very real panic attack.

"Aimee?" Kyle's voice sounded distant. "What's wrong?"

"I... I can't breathe," I gasped, my free hand flying to my chest. The pen clattered from my fingers onto the glass table. My performance was becoming terrifyingly real. My body was betraying me even as my mind was plotting a war.

"For God's sake, don't fall apart on me now," he muttered, his concern instantly evaporating, replaced by annoyance. He grabbed a glass of water and thrust it at me. "Pull yourself together. We're on a deadline."

His callousness was the jolt I needed. The panic receded, replaced by a wave of icy rage. I took a shaky sip of water, my eyes meeting his over the rim of the glass. I let him see the fear, the vulnerability. I let him believe he was in complete control.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice thin and reedy. "It's just... a lot to take in."

"I know. Let's just get it done." He pushed the papers back in front of me.

My phone rang, a shrill, intrusive sound. It was my doctor's office, the pre-arranged call I had scheduled as a contingency. I answered, my voice still shaky.

"Hello? Yes, this is she." I listened for a moment, my eyes widening in feigned alarm. "Now? Is it urgent? Okay. Yes, I'll be right there."

I hung up, my face a mask of distress. "It's my mother," I lied, referencing her well-known fragile health. "She's had a fall. They need me at the hospital."

Kyle's jaw tightened. A delay. An unforeseen variable in his perfect plan. "Can't it wait an hour?"

"They said it's serious, Kyle."

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing in frustration. His focus wasn't on my mother's health, but on the logistical inconvenience. "Fine. Fine! Go. But we're signing these the moment you get back. I'll clear my schedule."

I stood up, grabbing my purse. As I walked to the door, I heard his phone buzz. I glanced back. He was already texting, a small smile on his face. No doubt reassuring Karma that the walking bank account was just experiencing a minor technical difficulty.

He didn't offer to come with me. He didn't ask which hospital. He didn't even say he hoped my mother was okay.

He saw me as a tool. A signature on a page. An asset to be leveraged.

He had no idea that this asset was about to liquidate his entire world.