Chapter 3
Grant called me eighty-four times before noon.
I did not answer once.
His messages changed every hour.
At first, rage.
Claire, pick up.
You embarrassed me.
You think your father scares me?
Then confusion.
Why are my cards frozen?
What did you do?
Call me now.
Then fear.
Claire, listen.
This is getting out of hand.
We can fix this.
Then the first apology.
I shouldn’t have hit you.
I was drunk.
Vanessa provoked the situation.
I stared at that message for a long time.
Vanessa provoked the situation.
Not I hurt you.
Not I betrayed you.
Not I threw my wife bleeding into a storm.
Even his regret needed someone else to carry it.
Dad watched me from across the room.
“Do not answer.”
“I won’t.”
“You still want to.”
I looked away.
He knew me too well.
“I want to hear him panic.”
“That is not the same as healing.”
“No.”
“But I want it anyway.”
Dad’s face softened.
“Then let me hear it for you.”
At 12:30, Grant appeared on the building cameras.
He stood in the lobby of my father’s penthouse tower wearing the same suit from the night before.
No tie.
Hair messy.
Face tight with fury.
Vanessa was not with him.
Of course she was not.
Women like Vanessa enjoyed storms from inside warm rooms.
The lobby guard refused him entry.
Grant shouted my name.
I watched from the security feed.
“Claire!” he yelled.
“Stop hiding behind your father!”
Dad stood behind me.
“He calls protection hiding because he has only ever respected exposure.”
Grant slammed his fist on the security desk.
“I am her husband!”
The guard replied, “Not on this property.”
My father pressed the intercom button.
“Grant.”
Grant froze.
He looked toward the camera.
“Arthur.”
His voice changed immediately.
Less loud.
Still arrogant.
But careful.
Smart enough to fear the right man.
Dad’s voice was calm.
“You have thirty seconds to leave.”
Grant glared.
“This is between me and my wife.”
“You lost the right to say wife when you hit her.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You made six.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“She called you?”
“Yes.”
“She always runs to Daddy when things get hard.”
Dad smiled slightly.
“You should have wondered why she waited seven years.”
Grant looked toward the elevator.
“I need to speak with her.”
“No.”
“If she thinks she can take my house—”
“Your house is titled to a Vance family trust.”
Grant went still.
“What?”
Dad tilted his head.
“You did read the ownership papers before bragging about it, didn’t you?”
Grant’s face drained.
The lobby guard stepped closer.
Dad continued.
“The trust allowed you to reside there as Claire’s spouse. That permission ended at 8:00 this morning.”
Grant stared at the camera.
“You can’t do that.”
“I did.”
“Vanessa is there.”
“That is unfortunate for Vanessa.”
At that exact moment, Russell entered the room.
“Security team is at the house.”
Dad nodded.
“Put it on screen.”
The feed switched.
My former home appeared on camera.
Two security officers stood at the front door.
Vanessa opened it wearing my silk robe.
Still.
Her smile disappeared when they handed her a notice.
Grant saw it on the lobby screen.
“No,” he said.
My father leaned toward the mic.
“Your mistress has fifteen minutes to leave my daughter’s house.”
Grant turned red.
“That house was mine.”
“No,” Dad said quietly.
“You were only ever a guest.”
The lobby went silent.
Grant looked smaller than I had ever seen him.
Then his phone rang.
He looked down.
His face changed again.
His company’s board.
Dad watched him answer.
We could not hear the other side, but we did not need to.
Grant’s shoulders stiffened.
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
He looked up at the camera with pure hatred.
“What did you do?”
Dad released the intercom.
He turned to me.
“Second wall.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Vanessa.
You stupid little wife. If I go down, I’m taking him with me.
Attached was a photo.
Grant.
Asleep.
Beside a folder marked VANCE ROUTE CONTRACTS.
My father’s face darkened.
“She has stolen documents.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
I zoomed in.
The folder had my initials in the corner.
Not Dad’s.
May you like
Mine.
“She stole them from me.”
