Chapter 2

Marcus played the doting father for exactly seventy-two hours.

He held our son, Oliver, for the photos. He posted them on Instagram with a caption that read: The greatest blessing of my life. Thank you, my queen, for making me a father. #NewDad #Blessed.

Forty-seven thousand likes. Comments from every socialite, influencer, and executive in our circle, congratulating us.

My sister commented with three heart emojis.

I screenshotted everything.

On day two, he brought flowers—white roses, my favorite. But tucked behind the card was a receipt he'd forgotten to remove. He'd ordered two bouquets. The other was red roses, delivered to a penthouse on the Upper East Side.

Vanessa's penthouse. The one I had bought for her when she moved to New York, because she said she couldn't afford the city on a model's salary.

I said nothing. I just added the receipt to the file.

On day three, he told me he had to fly to Los Angeles for a "critical client meeting."

"It's just two days, angel. I'll be back before you even miss me."

I nodded and kissed his cheek.

Then I called my head of security.

"Follow him. I want photos, timestamps, and audio if you can get it."

The report came back in six hours.

Marcus never went to the airport. He drove to Vanessa's penthouse. My security team captured him entering at 2:14 PM and not leaving until 9:38 PM. Through the window, they photographed him feeding her takeout in bed, wearing nothing but the Cartier watch I'd given him for our anniversary.

But the worst part—the part that made my hands shake so badly I almost dropped my son—was the audio.

My team had accessed the penthouse's smart speaker system. I owned the apartment, after all. The system was registered to my account.

Vanessa's voice, lazy and satisfied: "When are you going to leave her, baby?"

Marcus: "After the gala. She's giving me signing authority on the offshore accounts next week. Once I move the funds, we disappear."

Vanessa: "And the baby?"

Marcus laughed. "She can keep it. I never wanted kids anyway. That was her obsession."

Vanessa: "Poor Elena. She really thinks you love her."

Marcus: "She's useful. That's not the same thing."

I played it three times.

The third time, I didn't even flinch.

I looked down at Oliver, sleeping peacefully in my arms, and I made him a silent promise.

Your father will never touch a single penny that belongs to you. And your aunt will learn that blood means nothing when you betray it.

My phone buzzed. A text from Vanessa.

Hey sis! How's my little nephew? I'm dying to meet him! Can I come by tomorrow? I'll bring lunch! 💕

I typed back: Of course. You're family. 💕

Then I called my stylist.

"I need a dress for the Met Gala. Something red. Something that says 'I own every person in this room.'"