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Julian’s eyes locked onto Clarabel, his gaze cold, calculating, and entirely devoid of the warmth that had once defined their marriage. Beside him, Sabrina Cole adjusted her posture, her smug smile widening as she watched Clarabel struggle to balance her sleeping baby and her heavy diaper bag. / Chapter 5 / 6

Chapter 5 - The Enemy of My Enemy

Sabrina stepped into the tiny kitchen, looking entirely out of place among the faded floral wallpaper and laminate countertops. She pulled a encrypted flash drive from her pocket and set it on the table.

"What is that?" Clarabel asked, keeping her distance.

"It’s Victoria’s private ledger," Sabrina said. "I managed to copy it from Julian’s laptop before he locked me out of his office. It doesn't just show the payment to the notary. It shows a decade of offshore accounts, tax evasion, and bribery. They’ve been paying off the local police chief and several judges for years. That’s why they were so confident they could steal your daughter and your life."

Clarabel looked at her lawyer, Arthur Hartwell, who had arrived quickly after Clarabel called him. He picked up the flash drive with a pen, examining it.

"If this is real," Hartwell said, "it doesn't just clear Clarabel. It triggers a federal investigation. The local authorities won't be able to protect the Vances if the FBI gets involved."

"It is real," Sabrina said, her jaw tight. "But there’s a catch. Victoria knows I have it. She’s already put a warrant out for my arrest claiming I stole trade secrets. We have to act tonight. Julian is hosting a private charity gala at the Vance Manor. The governor is going to be there. It’s Julian's last-ditch effort to save the merger and show the public that the Vance family is still untouchable."

Clarabel looked down at her hands. For three years, she had lived in terror of Victoria’s disapproval, of Julian’s cold gaslighting. She had let them treat her like a temporary fixture in their grand house, a vessel to carry the next generation of Vances and then be discarded.

"We're going to the gala," Clarabel said.

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The notification light on my phone blinked a furious, rhythmic amber. Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six missed calls. Ryan’s texts were no longer polite; they were mutating into panicked, all-caps demands. “Mom is crying hysterically. The bank is threatening default. What kind of monster cuts off a widow? PICK UP THE PHONE.”

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"Clarabel, no," her mother pleaded. "It's dangerous. They'll have security."

"They won't stop me," Clarabel said, her voice ringing with a strength she didn't know she possessed. "Not when I have the truth."

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