Chapter 4 - THE TRAP IS SET
By four o'clock that afternoon, I was sitting in the high-rise office of my corporate lawyer, Sarah Jenkins.
Sarah slid a thick folder across the mahogany desk. “Veronica Vale fell for it immediately. Within an hour of receiving the 'leaked' information from Harold, she called a emergency meeting of the Vale Family Trust board.”
“What did you leak to her?” I asked, sipping my San Pellegrino.
“We let her believe that because your marriage was consummated before the final notarization of Schedule B—the asset schedule attached to your prenup—the prenuptial agreement could be challenged in state court if you filed for divorce within the first thirty days,” Sarah explained with a sharp grin. “Basically, we made her think that if she pushes Adrian to divorce you right now, or if she creates grounds for an annulment, Adrian could claim a mandatory 20% equity settlement under old state marital property laws.”
I laughed softly. “And is that law real?”
“It was repealed in 1994,” Sarah said. “But Veronica’s lawyer is eighty-two years old and hasn't updated his knowledge of estate law in three decades. She thinks she’s holding an absolute nuclear weapon.”
“Perfect,” I said. “She thinks she can orchestrate a quick marriage, create a public scandal, force a divorce, and strip me of twenty percent of my empire.”
“What’s your next move?” Sarah asked.
“I want to see how far Adrian will go,” I said, my chest tightening with a faint sting of heartache. Despite everything, part of me had hoped Adrian was innocent—just a weak man caught between an overbearing mother and an intimidating wife. But I needed to know if he was complicit.
I returned to the estate at seven in the evening.
The front door was unlocked. When I walked into the grand foyer, I didn't find Adrian packing a bag. Instead, the house was dimly lit, soft jazz was playing over the sound system, and a magnificent dinner spread was laid out on the newly cleaned dining table.
Adrian stood by the dining room entrance, dressed in a crisp suit, holding two glasses of red wine.
“Maya,” he said, his tone gentle, remorseful, and deeply intimate. “I’m so sorry about this morning. I was a fool. I let my mother overpower me, but I’ve spent the entire afternoon thinking about us. You’re my wife. Not my family’s asset.”
He walked over and handed me a glass of wine.
I took the glass, looking into his clear, earnest eyes. For a fraction of a second, I wanted to believe him.
“I spoke to my mother,” Adrian continued, leaning in close, his voice thick with emotion. “I told her that if she ever disrespected you again, I would cut her out of my life forever. I chose you, Maya. I choose you every time.”
He raised his glass. “To us. To new beginnings.”
I clinked my glass against his, but I didn't drink. I set it down on the console table behind me.
“Adrian,” I whispered softly. “Do you really mean that?”
“With all my heart,” he said, kissing my forehead.
Then his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. Once. Twice. Three times.
He quickly reached in and pressed silent, but not before I caught a glimpse of the screen:
Sender: Mom. Text: 'Did you get her to sign the joint account authorization yet? Remember the 30-day clock is ticking.'
My heart turned to absolute stone.
He wasn't here to save our marriage. He was here to execute his mother’s command. He was playing the loving, repentant husband to get me to lower my guard, open a joint account, and set the stage for their fraudulent payout.
I smiled up at him—a sweet, perfectly fabricated smile.
“Adrian,” I said smoothly. “I was so wrong about you. You really are a wonderful husband.”
“I try, babe,” he smiled, relief washing over his face.
“Let’s celebrate,” I said, holding his gaze. “In fact, let's host a grand formal dinner right here at the house this weekend. A public celebration of our marriage. Let’s invite your entire family. And my business associates.”
May you like
Adrian’s eyes lit up with greed. “A formal dinner? Together?”
“Yes,” I whispered, leaning in closer. “Let’s show everyone exactly what this marriage is made of.”
