Nora's POV
I don't want this to be fake anymore.
Dominic's words echo in my head the entire ride home. I steal glances at him, but he's staring out the window, jaw tight. Did he really just say that? Or am I losing my mind?
The penthouse feels different when we walk in. Smaller somehow. More intimate.
I kick off the torture devices masquerading as heels and collapse on the couch. Your family is delightful.
Victoria hates everyone. Don't take it personally. Dominic moves to the bar, pours two glasses of amber liquid.
Why does she hate you specifically?
He hands me a glass, sits on the opposite end of the couch. Careful distance.
She expected to inherit the company when my father died. Instead, I survived and took everything she thought was hers.
Survived. I catch the word. You said that before. About the plane crash.
His fingers tighten on his glass. For a long moment, I think he won't answer.
I was supposed to be on that flight. His voice is flat, emotionless. My parents were flying home from a business trip. I was at Columbia, should have flown home with them. Changed plans last minute for some party I don't even remember.
My chest tightens. Dominic
They died protecting technology worth billions. Technology that's now being stolen by my own CFO, and I can't stop it. He drains his scotch in one swallow. Some heir I turned out to be.
That's survivor's guilt talking. Not truth.
Is it? His eyes meet mine, and I see the guilt he's been carrying. Because Victoria's right about one thing. Everyone I care about gets hurt. My parents. My— He stops abruptly.
Your what?
Nothing. Forget it. He stands. Separate bedrooms, remember? Goodnight, Nora.
He walks away before I can respond.
I sit alone, nursing my drink, listening to his footsteps echo down the hall. His door closes. Then silence.
Except it's not silent.
Around midnight, I hear pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. The sound continues for hours.
At 3 AM, it finally stops.
I lie awake in my enormous bed, wondering what demons keep Dominic Ashford awake at night.
Morning light wakes me. I stumble toward the kitchen, desperately needing caffeine.
A cup of coffee sits on the counter. Still hot. Steam rising.
I lift it cautiously, take a sip.
Perfect. Two sugars, splash of cream, exactly how I like it.
But I never told him how I take my coffee.
A note sits beside the cup, written in bold handwriting:
Drink this. We have work to do. —D
Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest.
This is fake, I remind myself. Business. Temporary.
My racing heart doesn't get the memo.
I find Dominic in his home office, already dressed in suit pants and a crisp white shirt. He's on the phone, speaking rapid-fire about quarterly reports and stock prices.
He sees me, holds up one finger. Wait.
I sip my perfect coffee and try not to stare at how the morning light catches his profile.
Sorry. He hangs up, gestures to a chair. Crisis at the Tokyo office.
Do you ever sleep?
Not much. His eyes are bloodshot, proving it. We need to talk about Marcus.
What about him?
He pulls up files on his computer, turns the screen toward me. He's been accessing restricted files. Technology blueprints, security protocols, client lists. Things he has no business viewing.
My journalist instincts kick in. Can you trace where the information goes after he accesses it?
That's the problem. He's routing everything through encrypted servers. We can see he's stealing, but not what he's doing with it or who he's working with.
He has a partner. He always does. I lean forward, studying the access logs. Marcus is too lazy to execute alone. He finds someone smarter to do the heavy lifting, then takes credit.
Like he did with you.
The words hit like a punch. Yeah. Like he did with me.
Dominic's expression softens. Tell me about him. The real him, not the public persona.
I take a breath. He's charming. Makes you feel like the most important person in the world. But it's all manipulation. He finds what you want most, promises it, then uses your hope against you.
What did you want?
To matter. To make a difference. I laugh bitterly. I exposed his embezzlement from that nonprofit because kids were losing scholarships. He convinced everyone I fabricated evidence out of jealousy when he broke up with me.
Except he didn't break up with you.
I look up sharply. How did you know that?
Because I investigated you before you investigated me. He leans back. You ended the engagement when you found proof he was stealing. He destroyed your career as revenge.
Tears burn my eyes. I blink them back furiously.
Everyone believed his version. Even Jennifer, my best friend. My voice cracks. No one believed me.
I believe you.
The words are simple. But they crack something open inside me.
Why? I whisper. You barely know me.
Because I recognize the truth when I hear it. He stands, moves around the desk. And because Marcus's patterns match what's happening to my company. You were right about him then. You're right about him now.
He's close now. Too close. I can smell his cologne, see the flecks of silver in his gray eyes.
We're going to destroy him, Dominic says softly. Together. And when we do, everyone who doubted you will know they were wrong.
This is just business, I say, but my voice shakes.
Is it? His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. Because it stopped feeling like business the moment you walked into my life.
My breath catches. Dominic
His phone rings. He doesn't move, doesn't look away.
It rings again. And again.
You should answer that, I whisper.
He finally steps back, picks up his phone. His expression changes instantly—all business.
What? Pause. When? Another pause. Don't let anyone touch anything. I'm coming now.
He hangs up, already moving toward the door.
What happened?
Someone broke into my office at Ashford Industries last night. Destroyed my computer, stole files. His eyes are ice. And they left a message.
What kind of message?
He shows me a photo on his phone.
My blood runs cold.
Words spray-painted across his office wall in red:
SHE'S LYING. JUST LIKE BEFORE. ASK HER ABOUT THE REAL REASON SHE MARRIED YOU. —A FRIEND
Below it, photocopies of documents scattered across his desk. I can't read them in the photo, but Dominic's expression tells me everything.
What are those papers? My voice barely works.
Your journalism files. The ones that got you blacklisted. He looks at me, and I see doubt creeping into his eyes. The ones that were supposedly destroyed when Marcus had you fired.
I don't understand
Someone wants me to think you've been lying to me. That you had access to these files all along. That maybe Marcus was telling the truth about you fabricating evidence.
Horror floods through me. You can't actually believe
I don't know what to believe. His voice is cold now, distant. Because if these files still exist, why didn't you mention that? What else haven't you told me, Nora?
Nothing! I don't know how those files
I need to go. Deal with this. He grabs his jacket. We'll talk when I get back.
Dominic, please
The door closes.
I'm alone in the massive penthouse, my perfect coffee going cold, while someone systematically destroys the fragile trust we'd built.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number: He's starting to doubt you. Good. Soon he'll realize what everyone else already knows—you're a liar who destroys everyone you touch. Sweet dreams, Mrs. Ashford. —M
My hands shake so badly I drop the phone.
Marcus didn't just break into Dominic's office.
He's breaking into our marriage.
And I have no idea how to stop him.