Chapter 1
Richard Payne was never short on confidence.
In his eyes, his wife, Grace Jennings, was only interested in shopping for fancy handbags and indulging in sweets. He doubted she had room in her head for anything more complicated.
So when Nina Scott walked in wearing that white dress, tears streaming down her face as she said the company needed 10 million to keep things running, Richard didn't even hesitate.
"Relax. I'm the one who makes all the money in this family. What could she possibly know?" he said.
Nina's tears turned into a smile as she leaned into his arms. "You're amazing. Not like Grace. She's just a pretty face who only knows how to spend money."
They sat in his office, sipping red wine and dreaming about the wonderful life they'd have once Grace was finally out of the picture.
What they didn't realize was that hidden inside the asset transfer contract they were about to sign was a deadly VAM.
And the so-called "pretty face" they kept mocking was downstairs in the café, coolly pressing the confirm button to dump her stocks.
*****
The main light in the study was off, and only the floor lamp in the corner was on.
Richard shoved a thick stack of papers right in front of me.
The documents hit the desk with a loud smack.
"Sign it," Richard said as he yanked at his tie, sounding annoyed.
I set down my fork.
Half of a canelé still sat on my plate, its crisp shell and tender, custardy center a testament to the two hours I'd spent waiting in line at that old bakery down south.
What a waste.
"What's this?" I asked.
I wiped the corner of my mouth and reached out to flip open the first page.
Its title read: [Supplemental Family Asset Trust Agreement].
Just the name alone was enough to make me nervous.
But the content was straightforward: every stock and fund I'd brought from my family, plus all the properties I'd acquired in the past three years during our marriage, would be handed over to Richard with full authority.
They called it "professional asset management" if you wanted to sound classy, but let's be real. It was daylight robbery.
"The company's launching a new project, and we need to show proof of assets," Richard said.
Without even glancing at me, Richard picked up the lighter from the desk and spun it between his fingers.
The sound of metal clinking echoed through the quiet study, sharp and jarring.
"Come on, you don't know any of this. Your money's just wasting away in your account. Let me take care of it. If I make a profit, I'll get you another designer bag," he said.
He said it so casually, like he was just talking about what to have for dinner tonight.
I looked down at the terms.
Clause three said that the trustee could mortgage or sell off my assets without even telling me.
Wow, that was cold. Not even a safety net for me.
"Richard," I said, lifting my gaze. Not to his face, but to the faint lipstick stain on his shirt collar.
The shade was vintage, unmistakably Dior 999 lipstick.
It was the color Nina loved most.
"Is this project risky? My dad said the market's been pretty rough lately," I asked. My voice was soft, with just the right touch of nervousness.
Richard paused.
He finally looked up at me.
There was a trace of scrutiny in his gaze, but mostly, it was pure contempt.
"Your dad's old-school thinking is way outdated. We're playing the capital game now. Just keep managing your own appearance. Leave the money-making to me," Richard said.
He stood up, circled the desk, and moved behind me.
His hands settled on my shoulders, pressing down, just a bit firmer than necessary.
His palms were warm, but all I felt was sick of it.
"Just sign it, honey. Your birthday's coming up next week, and I've already got that sports car you've been wanting for so long," Richard coaxed.
A slap and then a treat. That was classic Richard.
I gripped the pen, my fingers tightening until they turned slightly pale.
It wasn't because of fear, but excitement.
I'd been waiting for this day for three whole months.
"Okay," I said, smiling.
The pen scratched across the paper, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
"But, honey, today's the thirteenth. That's not a good number. Let's change it to the eighteenth," I said.
Richard glanced at the date and scoffed. "Still so superstitious, huh? Whatever. Have it your way."
What he didn't know was that this was also the day the first big surprise I'd prepared for him would finally take effect.
*****
Nina's art exhibition was held at the most expensive gallery downtown.
The entrance was packed with luxury cars.
When Richard walked in arm in arm with me, the crowd fell silent for a few seconds.
Everyone knew Nina.
She was Richard's college classmate, his business partner, and the ex-girlfriend he nearly walked down the aisle with.
If Nina hadn't run off to pursue her so-called art dreams overseas, I wouldn't have ended up as Mrs. Payne.