Chapter 3

The signature "Melanie Crane" on the screen glowed with a blinding white light, like a precise scalpel cutting my decade-long marriage and career wide open.

That money belonged to the firm’s reserve fund.

It belonged to the design results Gavin and I had pulled countless all-nighters for, and more importantly, it belonged to Mia’s trust fund for the rest of her life.

Now, it was another woman's private asset.

I stared at the digital signature and put my cut index finger into my mouth. The metallic taste of blood spread, quickly cooling my brain, which had begun to overheat from sheer rage.

I pulled the printed pages from the machine, copying the past six months of offshore transfer records, corporate structures, and Gavin’s unauthorized sign-offs.

The rustle of paper spitting from the printer was the only sound in the empty villa.

I hid the heavy stack of papers inside the mattress lining of the first-floor guest room.

By daybreak, the rain had stopped.

I took a cold shower, changed into a sharp black Dior suit that covered the red allergic rash on my neck, stepped into my heels, and drove to the Hart-Chase Architecture Firm in downtown Austin.

I had personally designed this glass-curtain building when I turned thirty, meticulously calculating the light transmittance of every single pane of tempered glass.

But when I walked into the lobby today, the reception and a few veteran employees looked at me with a dodging avoidance that made me deeply uncomfortable.

"Good morning, Ms. Hart," the receptionist managed a forced smile, not even daring to meet my eyes.

I didn't linger, walking straight to the office of Karen, our Chief Financial Officer.

Karen was a core member from our startup days; I had personally poached her from a headhunter's grasp years ago.

I pushed the door open and locked it behind me.

When Karen saw me, her hands typing on the keyboard froze instantly, her face turning pale.

"Valerie... aren't you supposed to be back from Chicago next week?" She instinctively tried to close her laptop screen.

I pressed down on her laptop lid, my knuckles turning white from the force. I slapped the Cayman Islands shell company ledgers printed this morning right in front of her.

"Karen, you’ve been bookkeeping these consulting fees for 'M&G Infinity' on the fifteenth of every month, routing them under 'Design Outsourcing,'"

I said, sitting across from her, my voice as cold as ice. "I built your career, Karen. I need an explanation."

Karen’s lips trembled.

She glanced at the closed office door and lowered her voice, her tone laced with undisguised panic. "Valerie, it was Gavin. He brought a joint board authorization, claiming it was 'tax planning' for the overseas listing. Melanie is the Chief Legal Counsel; she issued the full compliance paperwork. I'm just an executive accountant. I don't have the power to reject funds signed off by both the CEO and the legal department!"

"A joint authorization?" I sneered.

The largest shareholders on the board were Gavin and me. I had never signed such a thing.

"Did Gavin forge my signature, or did Melanie help him bypass the shareholder meeting entirely?" I pressed.

"It was the cross-asset replacement clause," Karen closed her eyes, completely spilling it.

"Three months ago, hidden inside that Design Department Cash Flow Authorization Transfer you signed, there was an attached amendment. Melanie used a Wall Street loophole to downgrade your 'informed consent right' to a 'default follow-investment right.' Meaning, as long as Gavin signs, you are legally deemed to have given automatic permission."

A violent spasm hit my stomach.

The trap had been dug three months ago.

During that time, I was completely immersed in the blueprints for the Sunset Bay resort.

Gavin would tenderly bring soup to my study every night, murmuring, “Just sign these tedious forms, honey, so you can focus on drawing. I’ll handle the dirty work.”

I thought it was devotion. It was a noose.

"There's one more thing, Valerie," Karen looked at me, a sliver of genuine sympathy finally surfacing in her eyes.

"Gavin submitted an emergency motion to the board this morning, citing that your emotional state is no longer fit for high-intensity management. He’s preparing to appoint Melanie as Executive Vice President, giving her full control over your design copyright library."

Before I could speak, the crisp click of high heels echoed down the hallway.

Two long beats, one short. Perfectly rhythmic. Melanie Crane.

The office door was pushed open directly.

Melanie stood there in a flawlessly tailored dark gray suit-skirt, holding an iced Americano, studying me at her own leisure.

Her jasmine perfume had been switched out for a subtle cedar, but that high-and-mighty aura of aggression remained unchanged.

"Ms. Hart, what a pleasure to see you back at the firm." Melanie stepped in elegantly, throwing a glance at Karen.

Karen looked as if she had just been granted a divine reprieve. She grabbed her files, hurried out, and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Melanie, aren't you overstepping your bounds a bit in my firm?" I leaned back in my chair, eyeing her coldly.

Melanie walked over to my desk, set her coffee down, and leaned her hands on the surface, looking down at me.

Her eyes held none of the shame of a caught mistress; instead, she looked like a apex hunter clearing the table at a negotiation.

"Your firm?" Melanie let out a soft laugh, carrying a nearly cruel rationality.

"Valerie, let’s face reality. Ten years ago, this place did start on your talent. But the current Hart-Chase needs Wall Street capital, flawless agreements, and a professional legal team that can save tens of millions in taxes through legal loopholes. And you? You're just an artistic symbol living in an ivory tower. Your design style is too idealistic; it can no longer keep up with the modern commercial pace."

"So, that’s your excuse for being in my study with Gavin, using my assets to 'catch up on work' every night?" I pulled my lips back into a cold smile, taking the mangled platinum pendant from my pocket and placing it gently on the desk.

The letters M.C. on the pendant caught the midday sun, reflecting a cold glint.

Melanie’s eyes narrowed slightly as they fell upon the broken jewelry.

But she regained her composure instantly, the arc of her smile never wavering.

"So it dropped in the kitchen," she didn't even bother to deny it, elegantly adjusting her cuffs.

"Valerie, since you found the ledgers, you should know I understand the finest nuances of American commercial law. Gavin forging your signature? No, legally that’s called an 'authorized extension of proxy power.' Every single procedure for that Cayman money is compliant and legal. Even if you sue, the lawsuit will drag on for five years, and the firm’s cash flow will bleed out long before then."

She straightened up, slid a brand-new document from her folder, and pushed it toward me.

Voluntary Relinquishment and Trust Management Agreement for the Sunset Bay Resort Copyrights.

"Gavin is doing this for your own good. Sign it, step down from the board, and you’ll still keep a five percent annual dividend. It’s more than enough for you and Mia to live a dignified life in Europe," Melanie lowered her voice, using her most professional corporate cadence to deliver the most venomous threat.

"If you refuse, at next week’s board meeting, I will officially file charges against you on behalf of the legal and audit departments for 'misappropriation of corporate funds for private artistic creation.' When that happens, you won't just be ruined—the criminal litigation will ensure you lose custody of Mia entirely."

Underneath the desk, my fingers dug viciously into my thigh.

She wasn't flaunting a man's love like a typical home-wrecker; she wanted my career, my copyrights, and even my daughter.

"Is Gavin on board with this too?" I asked.

The office door opened again.

Gavin strode in, fully dressed in his suit.

He looked at the pendant on the desk, then at me, the mask of hypocrisy finally tearing completely from his face.

He walked to Melanie’s side, naturally placing his hand around her waist.

"Valerie, stop being stubborn. Melanie is right; this is the best arrangement for the firm and for Mia." Gavin looked down at me, his eyes as detached as if he were looking at a hostile corporate rival.

"Your emotional state has been too unstable lately. Last night, you went wild and filled the house with allergens. If Mia had been home, how badly would she have been hurt? I’ve already had the lawyers draft a custody modification agreement. Sign over the copyrights now, and we can still have a peaceful divorce."

I looked at the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder.

Gavin's arm rested around Melanie's waist as naturally as if I had never existed.

My husband.

My company's chief legal counsel.

Together, they had already decided the future of my life.

Melanie pushed the agreement toward me one last time.

"Twenty-four hours," she said. "After tomorrow's emergency board meeting, your signature won't matter anymore."

She turned to leave.

Gavin followed her without looking back.

Just before they reached the door, Melanie stopped.

She glanced over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought.

"Oh... one more thing."

"I've already submitted the paperwork to Family Court."

"By this time tomorrow, the judge will receive a petition claiming you're mentally unstable and unfit to retain custody of Mia."

She smiled politely.

"Once the emergency order is signed, you won't be allowed to take your daughter home."

The door clicked shut.

Silence crashed over the office.

I stared at the custody agreement still lying on my desk.

They weren't waiting for me to surrender.

They were already moving to take Mia before I could make my first move.