My fiancé said, “Don’t call me your future husband.” I nodded. That night, I quietly removed my name from every guest list he’d made. Two days later, he walked into lunch and froze at what waited on his chair.

“And the loan?”

Her expression cooled.

“Default notice delivered. His company failed two reporting requirements and misrepresented projected revenue.”

I turned from the skyline.

“He lied?”

“He inflated contracts from three clients. One never signed. One terminated. One belonged to your father.”

I laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

So that was why Adrian had become careless.

He thought marriage would secure me before the cracks in his numbers split wide open.

At noon, I entered Bellamy House through the side entrance. The staff moved quickly, silently, flawlessly.

Menus were replaced.

Place cards disappeared.

Security permissions shifted.