Chapter 3

I needed proof. Hard, undeniable, court-admissible proof.

Lucas's second phone was a goldmine, but I needed more.

Financial records. The stolen inheritance. Helena's orchestration.

I had seventy-two hours before Helena's lawyers would lock everything down.

I started with Lucas's home office.

He never locked it. Why would he? I was the obedient wife. I never snooped.

Until now.

His filing cabinet contained three years of lies, neatly organized.

Wire transfers from my grandmother's trust to Blackwood Industries' offshore accounts.

Monthly payments to Vanessa—$15,000 a month—listed as "consulting fees."

My sister had been on his payroll. Our entire marriage.

I photographed everything. Uploaded copies to a secure cloud account.

Then I found the folder labeled "V.M."

Vanessa Mitchell. My maiden name. Her maiden name.

Inside: medical records.

Vanessa's medical records.

She'd had two abortions. Both Lucas's children.

The dates aligned with periods when Lucas had been "traveling for business."

He'd gotten my sister pregnant. Twice. While married to me.

And Helena had arranged the procedures. Paid for them. Covered them up.

Because the timeline wasn't right. The heir had to come from the wife. From me. The legitimate vessel.

I was the incubator. Vanessa was the lover.

A division of labor, Blackwood-style.

My phone buzzed. Vanessa.

"Hey sis! Brunch tomorrow? We should talk. No hard feelings, right? Sisters before misters! 😘"

The audacity. The sheer, breathtaking audacity.

I typed a reply, then deleted it.

Not yet. I needed her to think I was broken. Compliant.

"Sure. Noon? The usual place?"

"Perfect! Love you! ❤️"

Love. She didn't know the meaning of the word.

I called the one person I could trust.

Dr. Margaret Chen. My former professor from architecture school. Now a retired judge.

"Margaret, I need a lawyer. The best. Someone who isn't afraid of the Blackwood name."

Silence on the line. Then: "How bad is it, Clara?"

"Fraud. Theft. Conspiracy. And that's just the financial side."

"Come to my house. Tonight. Don't tell anyone where you're going."

I grabbed my coat, my evidence, and headed for the door.

Lucas was in the hallway, blocking my path.

He looked... different. Softer. Remorseful.

An act. I knew his acts by now.

"Clara, can we talk? Please?"

He held out a small box. Tiffany blue.

"I know I hurt you. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I want to try."

He opened the box. A diamond bracelet. Stunning. Probably worth more than my car.

"I ended things with Vanessa," he said. "This morning. It's over. I chose you."

Lies. Smooth, practiced, expensive lies.

But I needed time. I needed him to think I was wavering.

"That's... that's a start, Lucas," I said, keeping my voice small. Fragile.

His face relaxed. Relief.

He thought he'd won.

He reached for me, pulling me into an embrace.

His arms around me felt like chains.

"We'll get through this," he murmured into my hair. "We're Blackwoods."

Over his shoulder, I saw his second phone on the hallway table.

A new message. From Vanessa.

"She bought it? 🤣"

He hadn't ended anything.

This was another play. Another script from Helena.

Keep Clara calm. Keep Clara pregnant. Keep Clara controlled.

I pulled back, managing a weak smile.

"I need some air," I said. "A short walk. I'll be back soon."

He nodded, magnanimous. "Take your time. I'll order dinner. Your favorite."

My favorite. He didn't even know what my favorite was.

He always ordered the salmon. Vanessa's favorite.

I walked out of the penthouse, evidence hidden in my coat lining, my face a mask of wounded compliance.

Inside, I was granite.

At Margaret's house, I met my new lawyer.

Rachel Torres. Small firm. Fierce reputation. A Blackwood enemy from a previous case.

She looked at my evidence and whistled.

"Clara, this isn't just a divorce case. This is criminal fraud."

She spread the documents across her dining table.

"Your grandmother's trust, the offshore transfers, the fake consulting fees... Helena Blackwood could go to prison."

Prison. The word tasted like justice.

"But," Rachel cautioned, "the moment they know you have this, they'll come for you. Hard."

"How hard?"

Rachel looked at me, her expression grave.

"Last person who went up against the Blackwoods? Lost custody of her children, her house, her career. They planted drugs in her car. She's still fighting the conviction."

The stakes were clear. Terrifyingly clear.

"I need more time," I said. "More evidence. And I need to protect the baby."

Rachel nodded. "Then we play their game. For now. You go home. You smile. You play the grateful wife."

She gripped my hand.

"And you don't trust anyone. Not your sister. Not your parents. No one."

I drove home through rain-slicked streets, my mind racing.

When I pulled into the parking garage, Lucas's car was gone.

But another car was there. Vanessa's red Mercedes.

And beside it, Helena's black Bentley.

They were in my home. Together. Without Lucas.

I crept to the penthouse door, which was slightly ajar.

Voices. Helena and Vanessa.

"—the baby changes everything," Helena was saying. "We need Clara compliant for at least seven more months."

"And then?" Vanessa's voice. Eager. Hungry.

"And then Clara has an unfortunate... complication. Postpartum depression. A breakdown. She signs over custody voluntarily."

"And if she doesn't sign?"

Helena's voice dropped. Cold. Final.

"Then we make sure she's declared unfit. I have three psychiatrists on retainer who will testify to anything I need."

My blood turned to ice.

They weren't just planning to take my husband.

They were planning to take my baby.