My Husband’s Secret Baby with My Sister (Her Marriage in Crisis #52)

Prologue

Sal

The bridal shop had floor-to-ceiling windows, which made my job easy.

I sat in the back of the car across the street, coffee going cold in the cup holder, and watched Camellia Brennan turn slowly in front of a three-way mirror in a dress that probably cost more than the sedan the valet had parked beside mine.

She was beautiful. I’d give Logan that much. Dark hair, dark eyes, the kind of posture that came from years of holding herself together so no one else had to. The dress was all lace and structure, elegant and cold, and even from across the street I could tell she didn’t love it.

The older woman beside her did. Greta Caldwell stood with her arms crossed, nodding, gesturing, running the show. Picking the dress. Of course she was. Logan’s mother picked everything, paid for everything, cleaned up everything. The dress. The venue. The wife.

The wife who had no idea that her groom had been fucking her little sister in hotel rooms for the last eighteen months.

I knew. I’d known for a while. I had the photos, the receipts, the timestamps, the whole sordid catalogue sitting on a drive in my pocket. One email and the engagement died on the spot. Clean. Simple. Done.

But clean and simple didn’t get me my two million dollars.

So I watched her smile at her future mother-in-law.

Watched her let Greta fuss with the veil.

Watched her be exactly what they’d trained her to be.

Agreeable. Useful. Quiet. She had no idea she’d married herself into a family that would feed her to a wolf to save their own skin.

No idea the wolf was parked across the street, drinking bad coffee, deciding when to bite.

The wedding was in three weeks. Every name in the city would be there. Every investor Logan needed, every door his mother’s money kept open.

Maximum chaos. Maximum leverage.

I’d send the email the morning of the ceremony. Let her find out who she was marrying in front of everyone she knew. Let it all burn.

My phone buzzed. I answered without looking away from the window.

“Mr. Fiore.” Logan’s lawyer. Smooth, oily, expensive. “We received your message. My client feels the timeline is somewhat aggressive given the...”

“Three weeks.” I watched Camellia hold her arms out while a seamstress pinned the hem. “Two million dollars, paid in full, in three weeks. The morning of his wedding, your client either wires me every cent or he finds out what I do to men who waste my time.”

“Mr. Fiore, surely we can come to some arrangement that...”

“Three weeks.” I hung up.

Across the street, Camellia turned to the mirror one last time. And the instant Greta looked away, I watched her smile fall right off her face.

She was too much for him.

She just didn’t know it yet.