Chapter 2
The car screeched into the underground garage at Riverside Heights, and Calvin threw the door open before the vehicle came to a complete stop.
He took out his keys and opened the door to his duplex penthouse.
The foyer was pitch black. Afternoon light sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, splitting the spacious living room into sharp lines of light and shadow.
The plush sofa remained untouched, and a half-empty glass of water sat on the coffee table, beads of moisture clinging to the rim.
Everything looked completely normal, yet Calvin instantly sniffed the difference.
The air was devoid of Sylvia's signature fragrance.
She always wore an exclusive perfume with notes of bergamot and cedar. Though subtle, five years of marriage had infused the entire penthouse with that scent.
Now, it was entirely gone. All that was left was the faint hum of the air purifier.
He stormed into his study. The safe door swung wide open.
The client files, supplier contracts, and financial reports had vanished. A piece of paper lay on the bottom shelf.
Calvin froze before picking it up.
Sylvia's handwriting was slender, elegant, and chillingly precise:
[Calvin,
[You guarded the door, but you missed the trap.
[You haven't changed the safe combination in five years. It's still your mother's birthday.
[Sylvia.]
He crushed the note in his fist and sprinted up the stairs to the master bedroom on the second floor.
The closet doors hung open; every hanger on Sylvia's side was stripped bare. Her jewelry trays were empty, and the vanity had been wiped clean without a single stray strand of hair left behind.
He yanked open the nightstand drawer, finding their marriage certificate gone as well.
His hand jerked back as if burned. He stood in the middle of the room, his breathing growing heavy and ragged while the afternoon sun reflected off the river outside, so bright it hurt to look.
His phone vibrated again with an incoming call from his mother, Helen Hartman.
He took a deep breath and swiped to answer.
"Calvin!" Helen screeched into the receiver. "That bitch stole my artwork. The painting I left with her for safekeeping is worth three million. I sent my driver over to check it, and all that's left on the wall is an empty nail!"
Calvin closed his eyes. "Mom, forget about the painting right now."
"Forget about three million dollars? Are you out of your mind—"
"Mom!" he roared, forcing a sudden silence over the line.
"The company is collapsing," he rasped out. "Sylvia dumped her entire equity stake and walked out with all our biggest clients."
A heavy silence fell over the line for five seconds before Helen exploded. "I warned you about putting assets in her name. I told you she was a calculating snake, but you never listen to me—"
"Enough," Calvin cut her off and ended the call.
He stood in the quiet master suite as the sunlight warmed his skin without offering a trace of heat.
His mind raced as the catastrophic reality set in: the stock crash, clients fleeing, the missing VIP list, his wife fleeing the country.
Any one of those events could cripple him, but Sylvia had orchestrated them to detonate simultaneously while he stood guard outside another woman's delivery room.
His hands began to tremble, not out of anger, but from a sudden wave of terrifying realization.
He had known Sylvia for eight years and been married to her for five, yet he had never viewed her as a threat. She had always been quiet, dutiful, and accommodating.
When Helen gave her a hard time, she simply smiled and endured it; when he spent nights away from home, she never voiced a word of suspicion.
He had assumed she was oblivious.
He had genuinely believed she knew nothing.
The screen lit up with a text from an unknown number.
He opened the message to reveal an image of a signed delivery receipt addressed to Calvin Hartman from a DNA diagnostic center.
A simple line of text sat beneath the image: [I took the liberty of ordering a paternity test for the newborn in the delivery room. It arrives tomorrow. Enjoy the reading.]
No signature was attached, but he recognized the handwriting and her voice in the words: cool, superior, and utterly unimpressed, like she was watching the drama unfold.
Calvin's eyes narrowed at the words "paternity test" as cold terror settled deep into his spine.
*****
High above the clouds at thirty thousand feet, the first-class cabin was bathed in the warm, ambient glow of soft lighting.
Sylvia reclined in her leather seat, gently swirling a glass of champagne as delicate golden bubbles floated to the surface.
Her phone rested face-up on the tray table, humming continuously with fresh news alerts:
[Hartman Holdings Stock Crashes 12%, Trading Halted]
[Major Brokerages Issue Emergency Downgrade for Hartman Holdings]
[Rumors Swirl as Hartman Holdings Loses Key Corporate Clients]
She took a slow sip of champagne, enjoying the cool fizz on her palate.
A sudden laugh broke the quiet from the neighboring seat where her close friend, Olivia Santos, lay stretched out with her feet up.
Olivia's phone displayed a live stock chart of Hartman Holdings, a steep green line plunging straight down off the grid.
"Babe, this play was colder than anything I've seen on TV," Olivia said, biting her stirrer, her eyes sparkling. "I bet his face is turning greener than his stock chart right now."
Sylvia kept her gaze fixed on the endless blanket of white clouds drifting beneath the aircraft window. "He will trace the flight manifest within forty-eight hours," she noted calmly.
"Let him," Olivia snorted. "You aren't a fugitive. You liquidated your own legal shares, packed your personal belongings, and left on a valid passport. What can he possibly sue you for? Being brilliant?"
Sylvia's lips curled into a subtle smile. "How are things on Riley's end?"
"He said everything is moving right on schedule," Olivia replied, counting off on her fingers. "The divorce filing is locked and loaded. The paper trail on his affair, including hotel receipts, wire transfers, chat screenshots, is going to bury him.
"Plus, that two-point-eight-million-dollar condo he bought for Sophie came straight out of your marital assets. Riley will make sure every single cent is clawed back."
Sylvia looked down at her screen to find thirty-seven missed calls and twenty-nine unread voice notes from Calvin.
She didn't bother opening a single one.
"You really aren't going to call him?" Olivia asked, leaning over. "I'd love to hear him squirm. He's probably crying his eyes out right about now."
"He won't cry," Sylvia replied smoothly, placing the phone face-down on the tray.
She glanced up at the reading light overhead, its glow so soft it blurred the edges of reality.
"He won't cry," Sylvia continued. "First comes fury, then panic, and finally a desperate attempt to patch the damage. Only there's nothing left to salvage."