Chapter 2

Victor's phone chimed again, ringing like a relentless death knell. The sharp ringtone echoed gratingly through the silent cathedral.

He clutched his phone in a white-knuckled grip and glared at me in a way as if he wanted to tear me apart.

"Fine! You've got guts," he spat. "Just to spite me, you handed over your biggest bargaining chip. Let's see how long you can hold out with that stubborn pride of yours! Don't you dare regret this!"

He spun around, shoved his way through the stunned crowd, and stormed out of the cathedral without looking back.

Seeing her son leave, Eleanor trembled with rage. She pointed a finger at my nose and cursed before rushing out after him.

Harper shook her head, looking at me with deep, exasperated disappointment. "Veronica, you're ruining everything. You're going to push Victor away for good with these games."

In her high heels, she turned and left the venue as well.

[Her best friend is a total idiot. I suggest bundling her up and throwing her straight into the trash.]

The cathedral fell silent, every pair of eyes fixed on Alexander and me standing at the altar. I took a deep breath and looked at the officiant.

"Resume the ceremony," I said.

Alexander looked down at me, a trace of warmth flashing in the depths of his eyes. "Miss Norris, a pleasure doing business with you."

My voice dropped to a whisper, audible only to the two of us. "Tomorrow morning at eight, I'll be at Mercer Group headquarters with the complete technical architecture."

This farce was nothing more than a transaction between Alexander and me. It was my way of cutting Victor out of my life for good.

I wanted Victor thoroughly ruined, and Alexander needed my tech team to supply the core engineering for the Southside Waterfront project.

This was a mutually beneficial deal. Nothing more.

...

That evening, after the wedding reception wrapped up, I returned to the penthouse Victor and I had shared.

The cool night air cleared my head. Standing at the entrance, I pressed my thumb against the biometric scanner as I had thousands of times before.

The smart lock issued a cold, automated prompt. "Beep! Fingerprint not recognized."

I froze, then typed in the passcode based on the date we first met.

"Beep! Incorrect passcode."

A year ago, Victor had personally burned my fingerprints into the system, swearing this place would forever be my haven. Now the keypad locked me out without hesitation.

Staring at the flashing red light on the digital screen, I suddenly found it hysterical.

Right on cue, my phone rang with a call from Victor. "Veronica, haven't you thrown enough of a tantrum yet?"

Over the receiver, his voice was laced with exhaustion and his signature condescending benevolence.

"Sallie just fell asleep. I'm on my way back to pick you up. Void that agreement with Mercer, and I'll pretend today's disaster never happened."

I stared at the locked door, my tone flat. "Why did you change the front door passcode?"

He paused, his voice turning slightly defensive. "Sallie came by a few days ago to grab some things and felt the old passcode wasn't secure enough, so I went ahead and changed it to her birthday.

"Can you grow up for once? Do you have to make a huge deal out of every petty detail? She's sick. What are you even competing with her for?"

[Unbelievable! Changing the marital apartment code to his crush's birthday and then blaming his bride for being unreasonable? This scumbag is a master at gaslighting!]

Not mincing words, I hung up right in his face.

Seconds later, my screen lit up with a text notification. It was a photo sent by Sallie, wearing the silk nightgown I had personally ordered and lying across the plush duvet in our master bedroom.

The caption read: [Victor said this nightgown complements my skin tone so well. You don't mind letting me borrow it for the night, do you?]

I took a deep breath and dialed an emergency locksmith. Ten minutes later, a locksmith arrived carrying his heavy toolkit.

"Ma'am, this is a top-tier security lock. If I force it open, it's going to destroy the door frame," he warned, hesitating.

"Drill it," I said without batting an eyelid. "I'll pay you double."

The screech of the power drill echoed through the hallway. Ten minutes later, the solid-wood door that once symbolized "home" collapsed inward with a thud.

Stepping across the splintered debris, I walked inside. Sallie's personal belongings were scattered all over the open living room. Her designer handbag was tossed on the sofa, and her antidepressant bottles sat on the coffee table.

I walked straight past the mess into the study room and pulled my handwritten Startup Logbook from the bottom drawer of the desk.

This notebook contained every core algorithm, data structure, and system architecture Victor and I had built during our early startup days.

He used to keep it locked inside a safe; now it was just tossed carelessly into a corner, its leather cover stained with a dried coffee ring.

I pulled out the tissue, carefully wiped the cover clean, and tucked it safely into my handbag. Next, I powered on my computer in the corner.

Entering the administrator password, I opened the hidden drive partition and clicked Format Drive. The progress bar swept rapidly across the screen.

Within seconds, the core proprietary data that Victor had lusted for years, the pitch data he planned to show venture capitalists tomorrow, vanished into nothingness.

[Yes! Now that is how you pull the rug from under his feet! That scumbag is gonna be crying tears of blood tomorrow!]