Chapter 16
My hands tightened around the champagne glass in the present. The warmth of the chopper faded beneath the ice of that memory.
I gave him everything.
My trust. My heart. My name. My company. And he traded it for Caroline. Then when she left him again, he came crawling back.
Not because he loved me–but because I was safe. I was easy. I was the woman he could manipulate and dress up like a doll again.
He didn’t want me. He wanted control.
“I used to love him,” I murmured aloud, more to myself than Luther.
Luther looked up from his phone. “You still do?”
I met his gaze. Steady. Clear. No guilt. Just truth.
“I loved the man he pretended to be,” I said. “The Favio he performed. But the real one? The one who killed my child and handed me sunflowers with a smile–he’s dead to me.”
Luther nodded once. “Then bury him.”
I looked out the window, watched the waves glint below.
“Oh, I already did.” And this time, I wouldn’t be mourning.
Not one tear.
The Rodrigo mansion sat like a sleeping beast on the cliffs, bathed in the pale hush of moonlight. I padded barefoot across the marble floors.
The staff had all gone silent hours ago. Luther had taken a call and disappeared down the garden path. I told him I was fine.
I lied.
Glass of red in hand, I sank into the couch in the media room–three walls of screens, the kind built for billionaires who liked watching the world burn from their own private theater.
I clicked the remote once. The main screen flickered on.
Headline: “Billionaire Power Couple Favio Cunningham and Caroline Devereux Wed in Lavish Coastal Ceremony–Scandal Looms.”
There they were.
Grinning.
Radiant.
Wrapped in white and gold and lies.
Favio looked smug. Like nothing touched him. Like I was just a glitch in his perfect little empire.
Chapter 16
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12:40 Tue, 24 Jun M.
Caroline had the nerve to wear a dress from a designer I introduced her to. She looked like money. Like rot dressed in silk. Her face barely flinched in the photos, even as paparazzi
swarmed.
I watched the news anchor speak over b–roll of the ceremony:
“It appears the honeymoon may be short–lived. Sources claim a shocking video was leaked at the altar, revealing Ms. Devereux in an affair. Cunningham Industries‘ stock has plummeted overnight-”
I sipped my wine, eyes dry. Until they weren’t.
Until the next segment aired–a flashback piece, as if the world needed a recap.
“Favio Cunningham, who made headlines months ago for the tragic accident involving his late wife Amelia Rodrigo and their unborn child, has always maintained a low profile regarding his past. Devereux was allegedly present during the incident but denied involvement…”
My hand trembled. The glass hit the marble floor and shattered.
They said “tragic.”
Like it was some random twist of fate. Like he didn’t choose Caroline. Like he didn’t leave me bleeding on the hospital so he could race to Caroline’s daughter–a child that wasn’t even his.
I had carried our son.
And he chose her.
He let my baby die.
I sat there, shaking, jaw locked so tight it hurt. My vision blurred and I didn’t wipe away the tears. I let them fall–hot, bitter, silent.
And then I grabbed my phone.
Adrian picked up on the second ring.
“Amelia,” he said, voice deep and already awake. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
I didn’t say hello.
I didn’t soften my voice.
I didn’t pretend to be anything other than the weapon I was.
“Tell Dad,” I said, teeth clenched. “Tell him it’s time to start. Ruin them. Every asset. Every bank. Every shell company tied to Cunningham. I want them choking on lawsuits and fraud charges before sunrise.”
Adrian went quiet for a second. Then his voice came back, sharper than glass.
“You got it. I’ll activate Phase Three. Get ready, sister… for the final ride.”
I didn’t thank him. We were past gratitude. This wasn’t about money. This wasn’t about revenge sex or videos or silk gowns at weddings.
This was about justice.
About making sure Favio felt, for the rest of his pathetic, gilded life, the pain I carried in my bones.
I stood, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and stared out the massive windows toward the sea.
Caroline and Favio thought it was over. They thought the worst was the video. They hadn’t seen war yet. But they would.
And when the storm finally hit- I would be the eye at its center.
FAVIO’S POV
I woke up in what used to be a honeymoon suite.
Now it looked like a war zone.
Glass everywhere. The bottle of ’49 Bordeaux I’d ordered to impress her was tipped over, bleeding across the floor like a murder scene. The white veil Caroline insisted on keeping on all night was ripped and trampled beneath the heel of my custom Louboutins. Curtains half torn down. My cufflinks tossed in a corner like shrapnel.
The stink of expensive perfume, sweat, and rage hung thick in the air.
I sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbed my face, and felt the throb behind my eyes like someone jackhammering straight into my skull. My phone lit up again.
28 missed calls.
Board members. Legal teams. PR nightmares. Sponsors. Crisis control. All of them screaming silently in my notifications.
And then the memories punched through.
The altar. The priest’s voice.
“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Slow clap. Heels clicking on marble.
Amelia.
In violet. In vengeance.
The moment she appeared, my breath left my lungs. Her hair was a wave of wrath. Her voice? Like someone took honey and poisoned it with arsenic.
“Sorry I’m late. Got held up… by your hitmen.”
The video… That fucking video.
Caroline, naked, moaning in a suite I paid for. French guy. Tattoos, Sleazy music. Luxury bedding. The whole goddamn world watched.
And I just stood there, frozen in a \$30,000 tux like the biggest fool in the universe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even stop Amelia from walking out with another man’s hand in hers like a queen leaving a crime scene.
My phone rang again. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
hapter 16
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12:40 Tue, 24 Jun M.
I got up and staggered into the bathroom, fists clenched, and there she was.
Caroline.
