Chapter 10
721words
Leo's academic scandal exploded through Manhattan's elite circles like wildfire. Daniel called in every favor, pulled every string, only to find doors that once swung open at his approach now firmly locked. The university board wouldn't budge, and the press circled like sharks, each article hinting at deeper corruption.
"Useless! All of them—useless!"
Daniel hurled his phone across his penthouse study, where it landed with a muffled thud on the Persian carpet. He yanked at his tie and stalked the room like a caged tiger.
"Darling, please calm down. This stress isn't good for you."
Chloe's gentle voice floated from the doorway. She stood there in a silk robe, holding a steaming cup of herbal tea, her face a perfect mask of wifely concern.
"Maybe it's all just a misunderstanding? Leo's young—we'll find a way through this." She set the tea on his desk and slipped her arms around his waist from behind.
Daniel felt her softness against him, her apparent dependence soothing his rage. He turned and pulled her into his arms with a weary sigh. "You don't understand, Chloe. This isn't some minor problem."
"That's why I need you," she murmured into his chest, her voice dripping with practiced adoration. "With you here, I have nothing to fear."
Her performance was so convincing that Daniel's lingering suspicions about her recent behavior evaporated. In his crumbling world, his wife's devotion seemed the only solid ground.
Just then, his private phone buzzed with ominous urgency.
His CFO.
"What now?" Daniel snapped into the phone.
The CFO's voice came through so panicked it was barely recognizable: "Mr. Reed! It's—it's catastrophic!"
"Spit it out," Daniel demanded, his stomach dropping.
"Our three largest investors just pulled out simultaneously—no warning! The stock is in free fall!"
"WHAT?!" Daniel roared. "WHY? What reason did they give?"
"No reason given! They're completely unmovable! It's like… like it was coordinated!" The CFO sounded close to tears. "And… there's worse…"
"Tell me!"
"Someone sent our original books and emails from the City Hall Park project to the Times and… and the Commercial Crime Unit!"
Daniel's mind went blank. His hand began to shake so violently he nearly dropped the phone.
That project—the cornerstone of his success and his dirtiest secret. Only three people knew the full truth.
How was this possible…
He half-listened to the CFO's babbling while his mind raced frantically.
Who? Who could have done this?
This was too precise, too calculated. Not competition—execution. First Leo, now him. Whoever was behind this wanted total destruction.
This person knew not just his business secrets but his personal weaknesses.
Who could it possibly be?
His desperate gaze swept the room, finally landing on his beautiful wife standing quietly nearby, her face still showing perfect concern and confusion. Like a drowning man, he clutched at this last hope.
Chloe.
She stood in her silk robe, wearing that familiar porcelain-doll expression—innocent, fragile, perfect.
But something had changed. In the depths of those clear eyes, he glimpsed something new—cold detachment, as if she were watching a stranger's tragedy unfold.
An absurd thought—one he would have laughed at days ago—struck him like lightning.
Slowly, he lowered the phone. It slipped from his nerveless fingers, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.
He stared at her—this beautiful "work of art" he'd married two years ago, believing he owned completely.
He watched as the concern drained from her face like receding tide, revealing beneath it something cold and hard and mocking.
He watched her lips curve from practiced concern into a smile he'd never seen before—one edged with cruelty and triumph.
Finally, the pieces clicked into place.
Her strange behavior, her sudden return, her exaggerated fragility and sweetness…
Daniel began to shake—not from anger but from bone-deep terror that rose from his very core.
His lips trembled as he whispered a question so quiet he barely heard himself.
"…Was it you?"
Chloe didn't answer.
She simply picked up the steaming tea she'd prepared, walked to where he sat frozen in his chair, and stood beside him.
Then, with surgical precision, she poured the hot liquid over his sweat-drenched, ashen face.
Looking down at his pathetic form, she finally revealed her true smile—identical to Julian's—the smile of a predator savoring its kill.
