Chapter 3 - The Audit
Morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Dominic’s penthouse, illuminating a city skyline that looked entirely different when viewed from the top. I stood by the glass, sipping fresh espresso, wearing a plush bathrobe while my single dress from the night before hung freshly laundered in the suite’s expansive closet.
A knock at the door preceded Dominic’s entrance. He was already dressed in a charcoal-grey tailored suit, looking every bit the ruthless titan of industry.
"Did you sleep?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Better than I have in years," I admitted honestly. I set my cup down on the marble counter and turned to face him. "Mr. Moretti, I appreciate your hospitality, but I can't stay here indefinitely. I need to go home, gather my things, and figure out my legal standing."
"About that," Dominic said, stepping further into the room and tossing a thick manila folder onto the kitchen island. "Before you go anywhere, you should look at what my team pulled up last night."
I frowned, walking over to the island and opening the folder. Inside were financial records, property deeds, and corporate filings bearing Ryan’s name—and mine.
"What is this?" I asked, flipping through the pages.
"Ryan’s architectural firm, Vanguard Design, was launched five years ago," Dominic explained, his voice flat and professional. "Official public records show he was the sole founder. But look at page four."
My eyes scanned the document. There, tucked away in the initial funding agreement, was my signature—not as a co-owner, but as a guarantor who had used my father’s life insurance payout as collateral to secure their initial commercial lease. Furthermore, the land the firm's headquarters sat on was purchased under a joint trust that Ryan had quietly had me sign away rights to during our engagement paperwork preparations three months ago.
"He tricked me," I whispered, the paper trembling in my hand. "He told me it was routine paperwork for our upcoming marriage mortgage consolidation. He said it would streamline our taxes."
"It streamlined his exit," Dominic corrected coldly. "He and your sister didn't just decide to get married on a whim last night. This has been planned for at least six months. The firm just secured a twenty-million-dollar municipal contract for the new downtown transit hub—a contract your family’s political connections helped facilitate. By cutting you out now, Ryan keeps the entire valuation of the firm, the municipal contract, and your family's assets."
The blood rushed in my ears. It wasn't just a betrayal of love; it was a premeditated financial execution. They had used me as a stepping stone, drained my resources, leveraged my connections, and then discarded me publicly like trash.
"I want to destroy him," I said, my voice dropping an octave, devoid of all hesitation. Not a plea for revenge, but a cold, calculating declaration of war.
May you like
Dominic’s eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, a spark of genuine admiration flared in his dark gaze.
"Good," Dominic said softly. "Because I happen to own forty percent of the commercial real estate surrounding their new transit hub project, and Vanguard Design desperately needs my approval on their zoning permits to break ground next week. Shall we pay them a visit?"
