CHAPTER 3

ANNA POV

“I want every bank transfer, every hotel record, and every location log from the last six months,” I say, sliding the envelope of cash across the diner table. 

The private investigator doesn’t touch the money right away. He slides a black flash drive and a thick manila folder toward me instead. 

“You don’t need to wait six months, Ms. Voss,” the investigator says flatly. “I ran your boyfriend’s personal accounts and checked the surveillance feeds from the St. Regis downtown. The paper trail was ridiculously easy to follow.” 

My hands shake as I pull the high-resolution glossy photographs out of the folder. 

The first photo shows Jack pushing Mary against the headboard of a suite, his fingers tangled in her dark hair. The second photo shows them inside a high-end jewelry boutique on Fifth Avenue. Jack is leaning over her shoulder, fastening a diamond pendant necklace around her neck while Mary laughs into his jaw. 

“He bought her the necklace three days before your anniversary,” the investigator notes, tapping the receipt stapled to the corner of the page. “Fourteen thousand dollars paid in cash.” 

“Where did he get fourteen thousand dollars in cash?” I ask, my chest constricting until I can barely draw breath. “His firm is nearly bankrupt. He couldn't even afford his office lease last month.” 

“That’s the worse part, Ms. Voss,” the investigator says, leaning closer across the table. “Look at the second set of financial statements in the back of the file. Jack Morrison’s architecture firm hasn't been surviving on clients. It’s been receiving monthly wire transfers of fifty thousand dollars directly from Voss Holdings.” 

I turn the page, my eyes locking onto the account numbers. 

The wire authorization carries my father’s personal digital signature. Richard Voss has been routing company funds into Jack’s business account for eight months straight. 

My throat burns with pure, acidic nausea. 

This isn't just a sudden, messy affair. My entire three-year relationship wasn't real. Jack wasn't just cheating on me with my stepmother—he was being paid by my father to stay near us, taking money under the table while sleeping with Mary behind my back. I was the cover, the naive little girl keeping the family picture pretty while they used my trust fund access and my peace of mind as a transaction. 

“Keep the drive,” I say, my voice suddenly deadly quiet as I gather the papers back into the folder. “I’m going to use it tonight.” 

An hour later, the grand dining room of the Voss estate smells of expensive roast meats and polished mahogany. 

Richard sits at the head of the long table, cutting his steak with clinical precision. Mary sits to his right in a emerald silk dress, her diamond-encrusted fingers resting delicately beside her wine glass. Jack sits opposite her, his face pale, his eyes shifting nervously to me every time I touch my silver fork. 

“Anna, darling, you’ve barely touched your salad,” Mary says softly, giving me a warm, motherly smile across the table. “Are you feeling better after your little rest?” 

“I feel completely clear, Mary,” I say, placing my hands flat on the linen tablecloth. My heart hammers violently against my ribs, but my fingers stay steady as I reach into my leather bag for the manila folder. “In fact, I brought something to show everyone before dessert.” 

Jack drops his butter knife. It clatters sharply against his porcelain plate. 

“Anna, not at the table,” Richard commands without raising his voice, his cold eyes fixing on me. “We are having a family dinner.” 

“No, Dad,” I say, standing up from my chair and opening the folder. “We are having a business meeting. Because apparently, Jack’s presence here is strictly on the payroll—” 

Before the words can fully leave my lips, heavy, measured footsteps echo loudly across the marble entryway. 

The double doors to the dining room burst open. 

A tall figure steps into the room, tossing a leather travel bag onto the side console with effortless dominance. Broad shoulders, a sharp, tailored black suit without a tie, and eyes like chipped grey ice. 

Peter Voss. My stepbrother—Richard’s twenty-six-year-old son from his first marriage. He’s been running our Asian operations out of Singapore for two years, avoiding the main estate like a disease. 

“Peter?” Mary gasps, her hand flying to her throat as her smile falters. “We didn't expect you back until next month.” 

Peter ignores her completely. He doesn't even look at his father or Jack. 

His dark, glacial gaze locks directly onto me. The intensity of his stare cuts through the room like a physical blade, heavy with pure, unadulterated hatred. 

“Dinner looks charming,” Peter says, his voice low, smooth, and entirely devoid of warmth. 

Before I can react, Peter moves across the floor with terrifying speed. His large, cold hand wraps tightly around my wrist, his grip hard as steel as he yanks me away from the dining table. 

“Peter! What are you doing?” I snap, trying to twist my arm free, but his grip doesn't budge an inch. 

He drags me out of the dining room, pulling me hard into the dark, secluded hallway near the library. He shoves me back against the heavy wood panelling, his towering frame instantly blocking out the light, trapping me against the wall. His scent—cold rain and cedarwood—floods my senses, suffocatingly close. 

“Let go of me!” I demand, my heart pounding in my throat. 

Peter leans down until his lips are inches from my ear, his jaw clenched tight enough to snap. His voice drops into a lethal whisper. 

“I don't know what game you’re playing with my father, Anna,” Peter growls, his cold eyes burning into mine. “But if you hurt him, I’ll destroy you.” 

I stare at him in utter shock, the blood draining from my face. 

He thinks I'm the predator. He doesn't know a single thing about what Richard and Mary have done.