LOGINSTACY'S POVThe hot water from the shower did little to wash away the strange, heavy feeling clinging to my skin. It wasn’t fear. Not anymore. Standing under the spray, I let myself feel it—the solid, unshakable weight of Michael’s protection. It was more than a man defending his wife. It was a fortress being built around a part of me I’d thought was broken forever.For years with Matt, I was an accessory. A thing to be polished, displayed, and then ignored in a corner. His family, my so-called family, treated me like a faulty appliance. Too quiet. Too barren. Too much. And when I was finally used up, they discarded me. No one came looking. Why would they? The quiet, broken wife had no value.I turned off the water, the silence of our bathroom a comfort. Wrapping myself in a thick towel, I caught my reflection in the foggy mirror. My eyes held a new hardness. If they knew, I thought, a bitter twist in my stomach. If Helen and George ever found out about the money, the company, this li
MIACHEL'S POVThe silence in the car was a physical thing, thick and heavy. I watched Stacy’s sedan turn into the parking garage of the Verve Dynamics building, my fingers tight on the steering wheel. She thinks she’s alone. The thought was a splinter under my skin. I’d seen the set of her jaw this morning, that fierce, stubborn light in her eyes. She had a plan. She always had a plan. But plans against men like Robert Vance were made of tissue paper.I hadn’t told her I’d follow. If I had, she would have argued. She would have seen it as me not trusting her. This wasn’t about trust. This was about the cold, hard fact that the world contained predators, and my wife was walking into a den of them. David’s cousin, his allies… they wouldn’t play by her rules. They’d just take.So I’d been quiet. I’d slipped the tiny listening device into the inner pocket of her handbag while she was in the shower. The guilt was a sour taste in my mouth, but it was drowned out by a sharper, more primal fe
STACY'S POVThe elevator doors sighed open onto a penthouse floor so quiet it felt like a tomb. Plush, charcoal-gray carpet, abstract art that cost more than my first car, and a wall of glass showing the city sprawled below. My heels sank into the carpet, muffling my steps. No more quiet. No more avoiding. The receptionist had scurried off, pale-faced, after announcing me. Now, it was just the imposing oak door at the end of the hall.I didn’t knock. I turned the heavy brass handle and walked in.His office was a monument to masculine ego. Dark wood, leather, the smell of cigars and arrogance. Robert Vance—the CEO of Verge Dynamics, the man pulling David’s strings—sat behind a vast desk, pretending to be engrossed in a tablet. He didn’t look up immediately. A power play. How pathetic.I stopped in front of his desk, not taking the offered chair. I waited.He finally glanced up, his expression one of mild, bored annoyance. “Ms. Sotheby. I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.” His voice
STACY'S POVThe silence in our bedroom stretched, thin and sharp as glass. His hands were a mess. I’d known, of course. Davis had sent a curt update hours ago. Secured the target. I’d lain here in the dark, waiting, my heart a frantic bird against my ribs. Now I watched him, standing in the doorway like a stranger caught in the light.“Where were you?” My voice didn’t sound like mine.He looked down at his hands, then back at me. A war played out on his face—the lie, the easy excuse, warring with something heavier. He sighed, a rough, tired sound. “The warehouse on Dock 12.”I let the words hang. He’s telling me. “And?”“And I caught David. He’s… secured. I wanted to teach him a lesson. A permanent one.” His jaw worked. He took a step into the room, the light catching the purpling bruises, the split skin. “I lost my temper.”A strange relief flooded me, hot and immediate. He wasn’t hiding it. He was giving me the ugly truth, raw and bloody. I pushed the covers back and swung my legs o
MIACHEL'S POVThe warehouse air was cold and tasted of rust and old motor oil. Concrete floors, high ceilings lost in shadow. A single hanging bulb cast a harsh yellow circle over the center of the space. In its center, David.He was slumped in a heavy metal chair, thick chains looped around his chest and legs, secured with padlocks. His head lolled forward, his expensive navy tuxedo jacket gone, his white shirt torn and dirty. One eye was already swelling shut from whatever scuffle happened during the capture. He was out cold.I stopped at the edge of the light. Davis stood nearby, his arms crossed, face impassive. Two other men I trusted flanked the doors.“Wake him up,” I said, my voice flat in the cavernous space.One of the men nodded, hefting a metal bucket. He walked forward and threw the contents—a slush of ice and water—directly into David’s face.The reaction was instant. David jolted, gasping, choking as the icy shock hit him. His head snapped up, eyes flying open, blinking
MIACHEL'S POVThe satisfaction was a cold, clean thing in my chest. I watched the committee head make the announcement, saw the shock on David’s face turn to rage, then to a kind of sputtering, public humiliation as security escorted him out. The applause felt distant. I already knew. I’d known there would be foul play. The organizers were in David’s pocket. But I’d found their dirt—financial skeletons, hidden affairs, the kind of leverage that makes men go pale. I didn’t threaten them into giving me the win. I made them see that giving it to the best candidate was their only clean way out. And that was still me.The crowd swarmed us. Handshakes, backslaps, empty congratulations. I accepted them with a tight smile, my eyes tracking Stacy. She was glowing, laughing with a group near the champagne fountain. The fear from the alcove was gone, replaced by a brilliant, triumphant light. It made my chest ache.My assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Iris, materialized at my elbow. “It’s hand
Stacy's POVI stayed frozen on the floor, my head down, my wine-colored hair falling forward like a shield. My heart hammered so hard I could hear it in my ears.Please don't recognize me. Please just take your phone and leave."Thank you," his voice said again, that deep, smooth voice that haunted
Michael's POVI'd come to Portland for one reason—to meet the CEO of Ellie's Oven. The bakery chain had grown exponentially in three years, and the financials were impressive. A collaboration would be mutually beneficial.But my mother had other ideas."Michael, you work too much," she'd said duri
Stacy's POVI stumbled, my legs giving out beneath me, but Marcus caught me before I hit the floor. His hands gripped my arms firmly, steadying me."Come on," he said urgently, his voice low. "Let's go."He didn't ask questions. He just moved, pulling me with him toward the elevators. My legs felt
Michael's POVThe silence in my penthouse suite was complete, and it annoyed me. David's report glowed on my tablet—detailed, professional, and completely useless. Eleanor Reed didn't exist before three years ago. The company paperwork checked out. The girl's birth certificate was sealed. Everythin







