Novel-novel oleh Grace Merit

Ben’s POV.The Morgan Gallery was too bright, too cheerful. Jennifer’s laughter, a sound I’d rarely heard, echoed off the polished concrete floors like a discordant bell. She was glowing, floating on a cloud of expensive silk and newfound happiness. A "remarkable man," she’d said. A man who gave her things, who took her to places with no menus.It made me sick.Not because I disliked her. The opposite, actually. Over the past year, playing the part of her loyal, gruff protector, I’d started to like Jennifer Morgan. I saw the steel beneath the grief, the sharp mind slowly re-emerging from the trauma. It was a complication I hadn't accounted for.But sentiment doesn't pay the kind of money Stanley Morgan was depositing into my offshore account.I waited until the gallery closed, until the last of the giddy staff had left, chattering about Jennifer’s mysterious benefactor. I drove my unremarkable car across town to a non descript office building that housed the law firm of Henderson & Sh

Jennifer’s POV The Texas sun felt different this morning. It wasn't the oppressive, glaring eye that had judged me for months; it was warm, almost forgiving. I walked into the Jenny Gallery” the heels Croft had gifted me, clicking a confident, decisive rhythm on the polished concrete floor. The sound was a declaration.“Good morning, Mirabel! That color is stunning on you,” I said to the intern at the front desk, my voice bright and clear.Mirabel looked at me with shock, her eyes wide. “Oh! Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. Good morning!”I moved through the main space, my new silk dress swaying as I walked. “Michael, the lighting on the Pollock-esque piece is perfect. You’ve outdone yourself.” The head of installation, a usually grumpy man in his fifties, looked up, startled. A slow, hesitant smile broke through his beard. “Thanks, boss. Just doing my job.”The energy was shifting. I could feel it. The usual hushed, somber atmosphere was being pierced by something unfamiliar: my own joy. It

Jennifer's POV The silence in my small Austin apartment was a living thing. It wasn’t peaceful; it was heavy, a thick blanket smothering the past.This was my self-imposed exile one year now. The whispers had become a roar. My name had become a whispered curse in the state I’d once called home.And the title was “Jennifer Morgan. The woman who put her billionaire husband in prison. Wicked. Unforgiving.”I saw it in the grocery store, at the gas station, in the pitying, judgmental eyes of former "friends." My own mother, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and disapproval, had asked, "Jennifer, was there no other way? The scandal... what will people think?" That was the day I disconnected, even from my best friend Lucy, who resides in the same state as my family. Sleep was my only true escape.nMy staff were concerned. But the silence was still there.It was during a fitful afternoon nap, tangled in sheets that still sometimes smelled of a phantom life, that the doorbell rang. T

~ Croft ~The news alert chimed on my phone, a soft, expensive sound in the silence of my study. I read the headline, and a laugh, cold and sharp as shattered crystal, escaped me: Stanley Morgan, Titan of Industry, Arrested on Multiple Counts of Fraud and Corruption.Fool. Arrogant, blustering fool.He actually thought he’d won. He’d stood in my office six months ago, promising to snatch the Liang-Po deal from under me, his chest puffed out like a prize peacock. “It’s just business, Croft,” he’d sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t take it personally. Some of us are just built for this. Others… Well, you had a good run.”I’d said nothing then. Just watched him, this boy playing at being a king. But I’d made a promise to myself, one I’d whispered to him as he left: You are a gnat, Stanley. And I will show you how a giant swats a gnat. You are too small to contend with me.And now, the swat had landed. Perfectly.My part had been clean and surgical, providing the chan

~ Stanley ~The 18-hour flight from Singapore to Texas was a victory lap. I’d spent it sipping Macallan 25 and reviewing the contract in my mind. The Liang-Po account, a whale that had been teasing the industry for years, was finally mine. I’d snatched it right from under Alistair Croft’s aristocratic nose. I’d crushed him, expanded my empire, and the champagne had tasted like victory. I could almost hear his teeth grinding from here. The man was old-money etiquette, while I, Stanley Morgan, built an empire with grit and determination.The limo ride home was a continuation of the celebration. I barely noticed the Texas humidity as I strode up the manicured path to my house. My house. A testament to my success.Where is Jennifer? She should have been at the door, ready to welcome me and take my coat. Ungrateful bit*ch. Probably still moping about the miscarriage. A minor setback, and she’d turned it into a months-long melodrama.I strode up the walk, I didn't even have to use my key; t

~ Jennifer ~The day Stanley left for Singapore was a day of terrifying opportunity. He stood outside his mansion, well-dressed and presentable, ready for his usual business trip. Every one of his travel suits was well arranged in his luggage and carried out by his driver.“Behave,” he said, his kiss a dry, threatening touch on my cheek.“Of course, Stanley. Have a successful trip,” I murmured, my eyes downcast, pretending to care for my lovely husband.The moment his car disappeared down the long driveway, I moved fast in the house . My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I slipped into his study, the room that was the inner sanctum of his power.Using the code I’d memorized, I disabled the alarm. My hands trembled as I booted up his computer. The password was his mother’s maiden name and his birth year a sentimental weakness he’d have denied possessing.I found what I was looking for: the encrypted files for the Singapore deal. I copied them onto a small, unassuming