The glass double doors of the Crown Harbor Hotel opened into the biting December air of Manhattan, but the winter chill was nothing compared to the ice freezing over my veins. / Chapter 4 / 20

Chapter 4 - THE CONFRONTATION IN THE STUDYThe study door flew open, crashing hard against the walnut wall.

Dominic stood there in his custom tuxedo, his tie loosened, his hair slightly disheveled. The smug, untouchable billionaire facade was gone, replaced by a frantic, snarling desperation.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Dominic barked, stepping into the room. "Do you have any idea what you pulled back there? Turning off your phone, making a scene, walking out in front of the paparazzi like a victim? Half the board members are texting me right now!"

I didn't flinch. I slowly ejected the flash drive from his laptop, slipped it into the pocket of my designer gown, and stood up from his leather executive chair.

"A scene?" I echoed, my voice chillingly low. "You hit me, Dominic. In front of two hundred people, you raised your hand and struck your wife."

"She was crying!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in disbelief. "Vanessa was humiliated! You cornered her, you threatened her—"

"I asked her what day it was," I interrupted, stepping around the desk. "And she panicked because she knew she was wearing a stolen dress."

Dominic froze. The color drained slightly from his face, though he quickly masked it with a sneer of absolute contempt.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Dominic," I said, locking my eyes onto his. "The narrow-backed wedding gown with the folded shoulder. The ivory seam from collarbone to waist. I drew that four years ago in our Connecticut study. You praised it, you kissed my forehead, and then you handed it to Vanessa so she could debut it as her own breakthrough collection."

For a split second, guilt flickered across his eyes. But ambition and arrogance quickly crushed it out.

"Prove it," Dominic hissed, stepping closer, towering over me. "Who's going to believe you? A housewife who hasn't worked a professional day in five years? Against the lead designer and the CEO of a multi-million dollar corporation? You'll be laughed out of court."

"Will I?" I smiled—a cold, razor-sharp smile that made him step back involuntarily. "We'll see who's laughing when the fashion world finds out that Caruso Design Group's golden-girl prodigy is nothing more than a glorified art thief, backed by a spineless husband who hits women."