Chapter 3

Morning sunlight streamed into the dining room, the scent of pine and fresh espresso lingering in the air.

As "Callum" made his way downstairs, he found me calmly buttering a piece of French toast at the table.

A brief flicker of awkwardness crossed his face.

After all, less than thirty-six hours ago, he had publicly humiliated me and stormed out holding Talia in his arms.

"Maren." he tested the waters, lacing his tone with Callum's signature warmth.

"I acted out of line at the gala. Talia's mental state was deteriorating rapidly, and I panicked thinking she might do something drastic to herself. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Setting my knife and fork down, I looked up.

Instead of the sharp sarcasm or explosive confrontation he clearly anticipated, I stood up, gently straightening his already immaculate tie.

My eyes glistened with unshed tears, my voice soft with vulnerable surrender.

"I know, ‘Callum.'"

"I overreacted that night, too. I shouldn't have been so hard on Talia. You survived a near-fatal explosion; pushing you like that was wrong of me. As long as you're safe by my side, a little public embarrassment doesn't matter."

"Callum" froze, thrown completely off balance.

My public persona had always been ruthlessly pragmatic and fiercely independent.

This sudden act of submissive devotion melted his lingering paranoia, replacing it instantly with smug vanity.

See? No matter how powerful a woman is, love turns her into a brainless fool.

The triumphant glint in his eyes laid his thoughts completely bare.

"I'm so glad you see it that way, Maren."

Taking the bait, "Callum" pulled me into an embrace, pressing a phony kiss against the crown of my head. "We're husband and wife. Trust is everything."

"By the way," I murmured softly against his chest, concealing the sheer disgust in my eyes.

"I'm initiating the legal transfer for the Prescott private estate in the Hamptons, along with fifteen percent of Prescott Group's preferred shares, into your name. Consider it my gesture of goodwill to you and the Vance family."

His body stiffened, his breathing instantly hitching.

We were talking about hundreds of millions in prime real estate and core equity.

"Maren, are you serious?"

He locked eyes with me, raw greed practically oozing out of him.

"Of course. We're married."

I met his gaze with an expression of pure, unwavering devotion.

"The Vance Group's 80th anniversary gala is coming up soon. I want to execute the asset transfer live on stage during the main event. It will show the entire world that our marriage is stronger than ever."

"That's—that's amazing!" "Callum" almost lost his composure, his cool facade slipping entirely.

"Maren, you truly are the most extraordinary wife I could ever ask for!"

Watching him hurriedly slip away to share the news with Talia, a ruthless sneer curled up my lips.

Idiot.

The hungrier the predator, the easier they walk right into a glaring trap.

Over the following days, I laid down my trap piece by strategic piece.

I had Mark track down the yacht captain involved in the maritime rescue months ago, purchasing the raw surveillance drives recovered from the emergency lifeboats.

While "Callum" was fast asleep, I snagged hair follicles from his head and ran a secret DNA match against stored blood samples from Callum's past hospital records.

The lab result came back definitive: Negative. Different Individuals.

Finally came the trap's linchpin.

I scheduled a private meeting with the Prescott family's longtime general counsel.

I instructed him to draft what appeared to be an irrevocable Asset and Equity Gift Agreement.

Deep inside page 47, tucked beneath legal clutter, were bulletproof clauses enforcing Clawback via Criminal Fraud and a pre-worded Affidavit of Unlawful Asset Embezzlement.

The moment "Callum" put pen to paper, he wouldn't gain a dime of Prescott money; he would legally confess to fraud, identity theft, and grand larceny.

Meanwhile, Talia became unbearable.

She paraded around high-end Fifth Avenue boutiques, charging outrageous purchases on "Callum's" black card.

In her mind, I was a broken, spineless woman who had submitted, while she was about to reign over the Prescott and Vance empires.

Little did she realize that every charge slid through a card terminal and every signed receipt built an airtight paper trail establishing her as an active co-conspirator.

The night before the anniversary gala, I softly brushed my fingers over my still-flat belly.

"My sweet baby," I whispered gently, "tomorrow, Mommy is taking back everything that belongs to your father. Those monsters will bleed for what they did."

Right before turning off the light, my encrypted inbox flashed with an untitled email from an unlisted server.

Opening it, I found a single blurry security camera snapshot.

It captured Talia meeting secretly with the Chief Financial Officer of the Vance Group. Below the photo was a short line of typed text:

【Don't be afraid. Do whatever you must. I have your back.】

My heart skipped a violent beat.

The phrasing and punctuation style… felt eerily like the man I thought I had lost forever.