Chapter 2
Silas
The message had barely landed when I stormed across the room and flung the door open.
Conrad was already striding down the hall toward me, suit sharp, face unreadable. But the second he saw my expression, his eyes narrowed.
“Who are we destroying today?” he asked calmly, stepping inside.
I closed the door behind him—quietly. Not because I wasn’t tempted to slam it, but because I didn’t trust myself not to shatter the glass.
“My soon-to-be ex-wife.”
Conrad didn’t flinch. He simply moved to the chairs, dropped into one, and waited for me to sit.
“You’ve got an airtight prenup,” he reminded me. “Infidelity clause. Full forfeiture. It’s bulletproof.”
“I want no-contest divorce papers in front of her by tomorrow.” I stayed standing, scotch in hand, pulse jackhammering under my skin.
“She signs. No theatrics. No mediation. Just her signature and her naked ass out the door. I can get her to sign—I just need to dangle a carrot in front of the greedy whore.”
“Understood,” he replied smoothly, already pulling out his phone. “What leverage are we using?”
I took a slow sip, letting the burn roll down my throat like punishment. The kind you welcome, just to remind yourself you’re still breathing.
“She’s fucking her married boss.”
That got his attention. His fingers paused mid-type.
“You’ve got proof?”
I laughed. It was hollow. The kind of laugh that doesn’t come from amusement—just the kind that bubbles up when the last crack finally splits the dam.
“Nine years’ worth,” I said. “Emails. Dates. Times. Hotels. Multiple men. Even the fucking name of the cologne one of the bastards wore.”
Conrad looked up.
What I saw on his face wasn’t shock. It was pity.
And that pissed me off more than anything else.
My jaw clenched. My nostrils flared. I stepped closer, leaned down slightly.
“Destroy her,” I said, voice low and lethal. “By any means necessary.”
Then I drained the rest of the scotch and set the glass down with the calm of a man about to go to war.
“She’s due to leave for Edinburgh,” I said, sliding the paper across the table. “Four-day conference. She’s going with a team. Her boss will be there. I want video, photos, room numbers—every fucking detail.”
Conrad picked up the sheet, scanned the names, dates, and address, then took a picture of it with his phone.
“I’ll get a top-tier PI on it. Discreet, thorough, expensive.”
“Good. I want every inch of her filth uncovered. Every lie. Every fuck. I want to see her lies on screen before I throw them back in her face.”
I stood and walked over to the bar, refilling my glass, the amber liquid catching the light like something sacred.
“Drink?”
Conrad blew out a breath and nodded.
“Yeah. I think this one calls for it.”
?? ?? ??
“This isn’t our usual type of bar,” Eris muttered, her nose wrinkling as she scanned the worn pub interior. Her designer heels stuck slightly to the floor as she walked in, and she looked around like the whole place offended her senses.
I pulled a chair back for her. The wooden legs scraped across the sticky floor, grating against years of spilled drinks and bad decisions.
“I’m just avoiding the limelight,” I said mildly, masking the cold precision beneath my smile.
“Thank you, darling.” She perched delicately on the edge of the seat like a princess afraid of catching something.
Eris looked good for forty-six, at least from a distance.
The kind of good that cost thousands—nails, hair dye, injectables, hours of makeup artistry.
Peel it all back and what was left? Entitlement.
Greed. A woman who’d spent years perfecting appearances while being a duplicitous bitch beneath the surface.
“Your usual, sweetheart?” I asked, still standing, already turning toward the bar.
“Yes,” she sighed, lifting her manicured hands off the table with visible disgust. “Can you ask someone to clean this? It’s vile.”
“Of course,” I lied with a warm smile, heading off toward the bartender.
She didn’t notice the faint smile tugging at my mouth.
This wasn’t a date.
It was a setup.
And by the end of the night, I’d have her signature.
?? ?? ??
I nursed my drink while she sucked down her fourth double gin and tonic. Every part of tonight had been strategically planned. Picking her up straight from work meant she was drinking on an empty stomach. Easier to manipulate. Easier to distract.
“I don’t want to be crude, darling, but I need you to sign my life insurance policy,” I said, reaching into my suit jacket and pulling out the envelope. “If anything happens to me, I want you and Everly to be protected.”
Her eyes zeroed in on the envelope like a predator locking onto prey.
“It’s for ￡150 million.”
She gasped. Her back straightened. Hands off the glass instantly.
The juicy carrot.
Yes, you cheap fucking whore. Sign your own demise.
She didn’t ask a single question—just stared, greedy and wide-eyed, like she’d already spent it.
“We can do it later,” I said casually, starting to slide the envelope back into my pocket.
“No!” Her hand shot out. “I mean—it’s fine. Not crude at all. You’re just being responsible. Looking after us.”
Right.
I forced a smile to cover the disgust crawling under my skin and opened the envelope slowly. Her eyes followed every movement like it might vanish if she blinked. I handed her the pen. She snatched it, eager, and leaned over the table. I pointed to the dotted line.
She signed.
I flicked to the next page—another signature.
And finally, the kicker. One more space. A reaffirmation of the prenuptial agreement.
She signed that too. Still pristine. Even drunk, her signature didn’t falter.
She had no idea she’d just signed away everything.
The PI had already started feeding me intel. Stuff I never knew. Stuff I should have known. She’d emptied her daughter’s trust fund. That’s why the boarding schools had cost so damn much—she’d inflated the figures to gain access to the money. Some years she’d doubled the fees. Tripled them.
There was barely a few thousand left in the account now. Eris had bled it dry. And I’d been the fool funding her facade.
Her greed had inspired this insurance policy trick. She couldn’t resist the smell of money—even if it came from my coffin.
“I’ll get you another drink,” I said smoothly, folding the papers and tucking them away inside my jacket. Close and protected.
I stood, taking a second to look at her. That smug, gleaming look on her face. Like she’d won something.
“What course is Everly studying again?” I asked casually.
She shrugged without missing a beat. “Don’t know. She’s finished or finishing. I can’t remember.”
Not even a flicker of interest. Not a second of hesitation to admit she didn’t care.
I turned and walked to the bar, thanking every goddamn power in the universe that I’d never procreated with that vile woman.
This was on me. My blind spot. I’d been too focused building my empire to realise the rot festering in my own home.
It was a mistake I’d never make again.