“You wildly overestimate your worth, Nathaniel,” I said, my gaze freezing his temper solid. “You used three thousand dollars to price me as a bride. Fine — let me be blunt. This four-million-dollar house of yours is far too cramped and pathetic for someone like me.” I picked up my purse. “I think I’ll just head back to my thirty-five-million-dollar estate. Much more room to breathe there.”
Beatrice gasped. Nathaniel let out a mocking laugh. “Are you out of your mind? Your parents are retired schoolteachers! A thirty-five-million-dollar estate? Did you build it out of Monopoly money?”
I slid my designer sunglasses over my eyes. For two years, I’d hidden my black Centurion card underneath a stack of maxed-out debit cards. The game was over now.
“Worthless things don’t belong in a house like this,” I said softly, turning toward the heavy mahogany doors. “As for who’s truly worthless… time will make that painfully clear. Don’t bother calling your lawyer, Nathaniel. This afternoon, my legal team will hand-deliver the divorce papers straight to your struggling office.”
As my hand closed around the doorknob, I glanced back at their stunned faces. They thought I was walking into a dead end.
They had absolutely no idea who they’d just provoked.
Part 2
The intricately carved gate of the Crawford residence clicked shut behind me, locking me out of my twenty-four-hour marriage.
I didn’t rush off like some heartbroken, weeping bride. I stood calmly on the sidewalk, smoothing the wrinkles out of the cheap synthetic dress I’d deliberately worn that morning. The hazy Cresthaven air hit my face, and strangely, it felt about ten thousand times cleaner than the toxic, suffocating air trapped inside that house.
I pulled the cheap burner phone from my bag — the one I’d used for two years to communicate with Nathaniel — popped out the SIM card, snapped it cleanly in half, and dropped both pieces into a municipal trash can.
Then, from a hidden, velvet-lined zippered pocket inside my bag, I drew out my actual phone: sleek, bezel-less, black, fitted with military-grade encryption. I dialed a single digit on speed dial.
“Malcolm, come get me,” I said, my voice dropping its sweet, submissive pitch entirely. “Yes, at the Crawford residence, out in the valley. I’m done here. The performance wrapped early.”
