Chapter 4 - THE TRAP IS SET
Over the next three weeks, I played the role of the devoted, tragic, obedient wife with master-class precision.
Every evening, I came home, made Ethan gourmet dinners, listened intently as he boasted about his progress on the Harrison commercial deal, and rubbed his shoulders while he worked late on his laptop. I played the grieving, infertile woman perfectly—occasionally staring wistfully out the window, sighing over baby clothes catalogs, and allowing Ethan to "comfort" me with empty promises about our future.
"You're working too hard, babe," Ethan said one evening over dinner, cutting into his filet mignon. "You look a little tired."
"Just busy at the office," I lied effortlessly, taking a small sip of sparkling water. "The end-of-quarter audits are brutal. But it's worth it. Knowing that we're both building toward our future keeps me going."
Ethan smiled, reaching across the table to pat my hand. "That's my girl. Oh, by the way, the firm's senior partners are holding a private gala at the Grand Regency next Saturday. It's the final informal review before the partnership announcement. Everyone’s bringing their wives. I need you looking top-tier, Savannah. Wear that emerald dress I bought you."
"Of course," I said smoothly. "I'll make sure you look like the most successful man in the room."
What Ethan didn't know was that behind my quiet smile, Victoria Chen and Marcus Vance were dismantling his financial life piece by piece.
Through a series of quiet legal filings, I had officially severed my joint tax liability status for the upcoming fiscal year, citing independent corporate asset separation. I had also filed a formal request with our primary lender to freeze the secondary home equity line of credit due to "suspicious unauthorized activity"—specifically targeting the forged signatures Ethan had used for N&E Management LLC.
The bank had agreed to keep the freeze silent while conducting their internal fraud investigation, meaning Ethan had no idea his secondary safety net was completely dead.
Meanwhile, I visited Natalie’s new luxury townhouse in the arts district.
The place was magnificent—floor-to-ceiling windows, Italian marble countertops, and a nursery outfitted with six thousand dollars worth of designer furniture. Natalie sat on the plush velvet sofa, sipping a latte while her nanny—whom she had hired on my supposed dime—rocked the baby in the corner.
"Savannah, you are an absolute lifesaver," Natalie chirped, extending her manicured hand as I walked in. "The landlord said the master lease was fully approved this morning. I don't know how you handled the paperwork so fast."
"It was nothing, sweetie," I said, placing a warm kiss on her cheek.
What Natalie didn't realize was that I hadn't signed the lease as a guarantor. Instead, I had submitted the application using Ethan’s personal credit profile and N&E Management LLC as the sole financial backer, attaching his personal legal firm's partnership guarantee draft as proof of income.
Natalie was living in a castle built on Ethan's unearned future salary—a future salary that was about to vanish into thin air.
"How is the baby?" I asked, walking over to the crib.
"He's great," Natalie said, leaning back and scrolling through her phone. "Honestly, motherhood is exhausting, but once Ethan... I mean, once things settle down with my personal life, it’ll be perfect."
She had almost slipped. She caught herself, looking up at me nervously.
I didn't blink. I simply smiled down at the sleeping child. The baby was innocent in all of this, and I felt a faint pang of pity for him, being born into a family of vultures. But he was not my responsibility to protect at the expense of my own child's future.
"He's beautiful, Natalie," I said softly, touching the baby's tiny blanket. "He looks just like his father."
Natalie’s expression hardened slightly, a subtle hint of smug pride flashing across her face. "Yes. He really does. He has his father's eyes."
"I'm sure his father will give him everything he deserves," I added, looking back at her with a sweet, oblivious smile.
"He will," Natalie asserted coolly. "Trust me, he will."
That evening, I met Julian Vance in a quiet dimly lit lounge three blocks from Ethan’s law firm.
Julian slid a manila folder across the table toward me. "Ethan submitted his formal partnership buy-in application to the Vance & Sterling managing board this afternoon."
I opened the folder. Inside was a copy of Ethan’s financial disclosure statement to his firm. To prove he had the capital required for the five-hundred-thousand-dollar senior partner buy-in, Ethan had listed our primary residence as his sole asset, claiming an unencumbered equity value of nine hundred thousand dollars.
"He lied to his own board," I said, leaning back.
"He forged your consent signature on the property equity release form," Julian said, his eyes burning with quiet fury. "He’s committing fraud at every level, Savannah. He’s so desperate to secure the partnership before you find out about the affair that he’s taking insane risks."
"When is the board meeting to confirm the partnership?" I asked.
"Next Saturday night," Julian replied. "At the Grand Regency Gala. Right after the keynote dinner, senior partner Sterling is scheduled to announce Ethan’s promotion publicly in front of two hundred top legal and corporate executives."
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I closed the folder, feeling a surge of icy adrenaline rush through my veins.
"Perfect," I whispered. "That gives us five days to prepare the grand finale."
