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Chapter 3

作者: Belen
The door slammed behind them.

I stood there staring at the space they'd left: the wine-stained floor, the ruined couture robe crumpled like trash, the cheap perfume still hanging in the air. I thought about the two of them in my bed, and the nausea was overwhelming.

This apartment was contaminated. I couldn't breathe in it for one more second.

I took out my phone and sent a message to building management: "Put this unit on the market immediately. Everything inside, furniture, clothes, personal items, dispose of it all. I want new ownership confirmed within three days."

Thirty minutes later, I was standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the presidential suite at the most expensive hotel in New York, with the whole city glittering sixty floors below.

I showered, changed into a clean robe, and sat down on the bed, and that's when my phone started going off.

Transaction alerts, one after another. A Chanel logo belt. A Gucci all-over monogram suit in clashing red and green. A Hermès bag in the most aggressively garish colorway they offered. In the span of a few minutes, my secondary card had been charged over six figures. Every piece was designer, every piece was loud, and every piece looked like exactly what it was: money trying to pass as taste.

None of it was for me.

I didn't even need to think twice. Kane had taken Alicia on a late-night luxury shopping spree on my card.

I leaned back against the headboard and felt the irony settle over me like a cold fog.

I remembered the day I handed him that card. He'd taken it with shaking hands and immediately pushed it back to me, eyes damp at the corners.

"Fran, I can't spend your money. I'm a man, I don't do that." He'd looked at me with so much earnest feeling. "I don't need any of it. All those expensive things people chase — they mean nothing to me. What I have to give you is worth more than any of that. It's my whole heart."

To prove how deeply he meant that, he'd spent weeks collecting scrap metal and cheap crystals off the street and welded me a music box for my birthday, crooked seams and rough edges and all. I'd treasured it like it was made of gold.

Now that same man was blowing my money on the loudest bags in the store for the woman he'd been sleeping with. The same man who had sworn that luxury was beneath him.

He hadn't thought luxury was tacky. He'd just been broke, and too proud to admit he wanted it. Every word of sentiment had been a loan he was quietly collecting interest on.

And then his message came through:

*Babe, something came up with the crew tonight — some trouble with a few blocks. I can't make it back. Get some sleep, don't overthink things, keep warm. I'll bring you those cheese bagels from your favorite place first thing in the morning. My heart's only ever yours.*

I opened his live location.

He was at Alicia's apartment.

I sat there for a moment. Then I laughed, quiet and cold as winter asphalt.

Three years. He'd kept this up for three years, and he'd had the nerve to think I was stupid enough to keep swallowing it.

Every dollar he'd ever spent, every block he controlled, every piece of standing he had in New York, I had built it for him. Under the table and without leaving any trace, I had funneled my family's resources into his pockets and cleared every obstacle in his path. A bastard son with no backing had become a man with territory and respect, and none of it was his.

Time to take it back.

I picked up the private line that connected to my family's people in North America and kept my voice even: "Freeze every account Kane holds that was opened through my family's channels or funded with my capital. Cancel all secondary cards effective immediately. Pull every liquidity line I extended through the overseas trust. Three minutes. I want it all gone."

I hung up. Blocked his number. Powered down that line entirely.

Then I lay back on the mattress, closed my eyes, and let out a long, slow breath.

Enjoy tonight, Kane. Both of you.

Because tomorrow morning, when the sun comes up and every card stops working and every account runs dry, I want to see exactly how strong that "connection" of yours really is.
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    Coming home to the European operation was everything I'd forgotten it could be.Here, I was undisputed. The Don's daughter, the woman every family deferred to without being asked. Every morning started with a team running on my schedule; I traveled in armored cars and private helicopters; the signature rights to half a dozen cross-border operations sat at my fingertips.Three years in New York, living small to protect Kane's ego — hiding who I was, watching my budget, swallowing my identity so he wouldn't feel overshadowed. Looking back, it seemed almost impossible that I'd let it go that far.Alessandro was rarely more than a few hours away now.We tasted century-old vintages in a private vineyard outside Paris. We stood at the bow of his yacht off Monaco while the wind came in off the sea. He had memorized every preference I had, never asked me to compromise, and always had everything arranged before I thought to ask. The warmth between us moved slowly, deliberately, comfortable and

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