Chapter 3

I sat in Gabriel's car, parked three blocks from our penthouse, staring at the laptop screen he'd set up on the dashboard. The surveillance footage was crystal clear—too clear.

"Are you sure you want to watch this?" Gabriel asked, his voice unusually gentle.

"I need to see it all," I replied, my fingers tightening around the edge of the laptop.

Gabriel nodded and pressed play. The timestamp showed yesterday afternoon—when Jude had texted me that he was working late.

The camera angle captured our bedroom from the corner, taking in the entire space. I watched as Jude entered first, loosening his tie. Then Blair appeared in the doorway, her red lipstick freshly applied.

"Did she suspect anything?" Blair asked, kicking off her heels.

"Please," Jude scoffed, pulling her into his arms. "Aspyn's too pathetic to question anything. She probably thinks I'm really working late."

I flinched at his words but forced myself to keep watching.

They kissed passionately on our bed—the bed where I'd spent countless nights alone while Jude claimed to be on business trips. Blair's laughter echoed through the speakers.

"How long until you dump the charity case?" she asked, trailing her fingers down his chest.

The question hung in the air for a moment. I held my breath.

"Once I secure the VP position at Campbell Holdings," Jude replied casually, as if discussing the weather. "I'll toss her out. I just need her to sign over the apartment first."

My hands trembled so badly that Gabriel reached over and steadied them.

"You don't have to watch anymore," he said quietly.

"Yes, I do," I insisted, my voice hardening. "I need to see everything."

---

Two days later, I waited until Jude stepped into the shower before making my move. The bathroom door was closed, steam seeping out from beneath it. Perfect timing.

I slid into his home office and powered up his laptop. Gabriel had provided me with a USB drive containing decryption software that would bypass Jude's passwords.

"Remember," Gabriel had instructed, "you have exactly seven minutes before the steam stops. That's when he'll notice you're not in bed."

My fingers flew across the keyboard, inserting the USB drive and launching the program. Jude's desktop appeared, filled with folders labeled with innocuous names like "Quarterly Reports" and "Family Photos."

I knew better.

Drilling down through layers of folders, I found what I was looking for—a hidden directory labeled "Personal." Inside were spreadsheets detailing transfers to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands.

"Got you," I whispered.

I cross-referenced the account numbers with Campbell Group's financial records that Gabriel had provided. The pattern was clear: Jude had been siphoning funds from company projects, disguising them as "consulting fees" to a shell corporation that funneled the money to his personal account.

And from there, to Blair.

I spotted a recent transfer of $250,000 with the memo: "For the apartment renovation."

Another transfer of $150,000: "Blair's birthday surprise."

The most recent one made my blood boil: $500,000 marked simply "For the auction."

I copied all the files onto a secure drive, my hands steady now despite the rage burning through me.

"He's been stealing from my family's company," I said aloud, though no one could hear me. "Using my money to fund his affair."

The shower shut off. I closed the laptop, slipped the USB drive into my pocket, and hurried back to bed, my heart pounding with a mixture of triumph and fury.

---

The Sotheby's catalog arrived that afternoon, delivered to our penthouse in a glossy envelope. I flipped through it casually while Jude was on a conference call.

There it was—the Victoria Collection. My mother's designs, each piece more beautiful than the last. The centerpiece was a sapphire necklace she had designed the year before she died.

"Jude," I called out when he finished his call. "Could you come look at this?"

He appeared in the doorway, irritation etched across his face. "What is it now?"

I held up the catalog, open to the Victoria Collection page. "My mother designed these pieces. I was thinking maybe we could bid on one of the smaller items? As a memento?"

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the page. "We're not exactly in a position to be buying luxury items right now, Aspyn."

"But I thought—"

"Stop being so materialistic," he cut me off coldly. "We need to focus on practical things, not sentimental trinkets."

I nodded meekly, playing my role one last time. "Of course, you're right."

Later that evening, after Jude left for a "business dinner," I logged into our joint account to pay some bills. A notification popped up: a transfer of $500,000 to Blair Miller's account had been processed.

The memo field read simply: "For the auction."

I closed the laptop slowly, a cold smile forming on my lips. So that's how it would be. Jude wanted to use my money—my family's money—to buy my mother's jewelry for his mistress.

Not if I had anything to say about it.