POLICE CAME TO MY DOOR BECAUSE MY HUSBAND’S CAR CRASHED WITH $500K. HE CLAIMED HE WAS FRAMED, UNTIL I FOUND OUT MY PREGNANT SISTER WAS THE DRIVER.

The rehearsal dinner was held in the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. It was a sickening display of stolen wealth. Crystal chandeliers, towering floral arrangements, and Manhattan’s elite sipping champagne. Thanks to a generous bribe from Marcus, I was wearing a caterer's uniform, my hair slicked back, carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Taped beneath my crisp white uniform shirt was a high-grade FBI recording wire, transmitting live to the vans parked in the alleyway. I kept my head down, navigating the room until I saw him. Liam looked like a prince in his custom Tom Ford tuxedo, laughing with the hospital board members, a pregnant Chloe clinging to his arm. I waited until he excused himself to go to the restroom. I intercepted him in a secluded, dimly lit hallway near the VIP suites. When he saw me, he froze, the color draining from his face. "Claire? What the hell are you doing here? Are you insane? You're violating a court order!" he hissed, grabbing my arm aggressively. "I know about the BVI accounts, Liam," I whispered, stepping into his space. "I know about the grants. I know you put everything in my name." He let go of my arm, his eyes darting around the empty hallway. Then, the charming doctor vanished, replaced by a cold, arrogant monster. "So what?" he sneered quietly. "Who is going to believe you? A broke, unhinged woman with a gambling addiction? I have the best lawyers in the city. By the time you get anyone to listen, you'll be in a federal cell for fraud. I built this life, Claire. You were just a stepping stone. Walk away, or I will ensure you never see the outside of a psychiatric ward." He smiled, adjusting his cufflinks. "I did what I had to do."