Chapter 3

The morning after the banquet, my apartment doorbell rang.

It was Kaelin.

She had dropped the delicate act and the pitiful damsel routine she used around Soren.

In four-inch heels, she strutted into my living room like she already owned the place.

"Maeve, stop playing dead." Kaelin tossed her designer bag onto the sofa, dropping all pretenses.

She looked down at me. "Let me tell you the truth. All those 'transfer of rights' games? I was the one who suggested them to Soren."

I stayed silent for a second. "So?"

"At first, I just wanted to test the waters to see if he would actually pick me if I stood by his side," she said, her tone dripping with pride. "Looks like I succeeded. You aren't irreplaceable."

She pulled out her phone and shoved a chat log in my face.

It was her and Soren.

Kaelin: "When you guys get engaged, are you going to take away my right to kiss you?"

Soren: "If she refuses to submit, you won't just keep the kisses. The seat of the Don's wife is yours."

Kaelin put her phone away. Her voice was bragging, but I could hear a trace of desperate pleading underneath. "See? He loves me. Maeve, you can't beat me. Just let us be and save yourself some dignity."

"If you're so sure he loves you," I stood up, stepping closer to her, "then what are you so afraid of that you had to come running here?"

Her face instantly stiffened.

I smiled coldly. "Don't expect to use me as a stepping stone. Get out."

She slammed the door in a rage and left.

That afternoon, I drove out to Long Island.

There was a sprawling, luxurious estate there. It was the future home Soren and I had designed together, meant for us to move into next year.

I just came to grab some important design sketches I’d left in the safe.

Walking up to the ornate iron gates, I pressed my finger to the scanner.

"Beep—Access Denied."

I frowned and leaned into the retinal scanner.

"Beep—Unauthorized."

My security clearance had been completely wiped.

Just then, the gates slowly swung open from the inside.

Kaelin, wearing an oversized white button-down that clearly belonged to Soren, stood barefoot in the entryway.

She was holding a glass of red wine—a vintage I had personally picked out from a vineyard in Bordeaux.

I looked past the half-open door into the living room, and my chest tightened.

The minimalist living room I had spent six months designing was now draped in tacky gold velvet curtains. The art pieces I had hunted down from across the world were gone, replaced by gaudy crystal ornaments.

"Where are my things?" I demanded coldly.

Kaelin took a sip of wine and casually pointed down the driveway.

"Right there."

Following her finger, I saw several massive black trash bags dumped on the lawn like garbage.

The bags were open, stuffed with my clothes and the design sketches I treated like treasure.

The edges of the sketches were smeared with dirt.

I shook all over, my nails digging deep into my palms. "Who gave you the right to touch my things?"

"The fact that this is my territory now." Kaelin didn't back down, laughing arrogantly. "Soren gave me permission to take out the trash. He said since you don't know your place, there’s no reason to keep your eyesores around."

Looking at her smug face, I suddenly felt that arguing was pointless.

I didn't scream or make a scene.

I walked straight to the trash bags, crouched down, and dug out the folder with my important documents.

Then, I stood up to leave.

That’s when Soren pulled up.

He stepped out of his car. When he saw me and the trash bags on the ground, a flash of panic crossed his eyes, but it was quickly masked by his usual arrogance.

He leaned against his sports car, blocking my way.

"What? Finally couldn't take it anymore and came to apologize?" He sneered, his sharp eyes locking onto me. "Maeve, as long as you apologize right now and admit you were wrong, I’ll restore your security clearance instantly. You’re still the lady of this house."

He was still sitting on his high horse, still convinced he had me in the palm of his hand.

When I didn't speak, he lowered his voice into a warning. "If you walk away now, you’ll regret it."

Without even turning my head, I answered:

"I won't."