Chapter 2 - The House of CardsBy 9:00 AM the next morning, the illusion began to fracture.
I was sitting in the high-rise glass-walled office of my penthouse downtown—a sprawling, panoramic sanctuary overlooking the city skyline that Daniel had never even known existed. To him, I was just a sweet, compliant wife who dabbled in remote freelance consulting to keep herself busy.
My phone rang. It was Daniel.
I let it ring out to voicemail. Ten seconds later, it rang again. And again. By the fourth call, I swiped to answer, keeping my voice flat, devoid of any emotion.
"What?" I asked.
"Victoria?" Daniel’s voice sounded breathless, crackling with an erratic mix of fury and sudden, creeping anxiety. "What the hell did you do?"
"Good morning to you too, Daniel. I hope you slept well. Did the mattress feel comfortable? Because technically, you're sleeping on my property."
"Stop playing games!" he roared, the sound of glass clinking in the background suggesting he was already hitting the liquor cabinet. "Mom tried to book her morning spa appointment at the Grand Horizon, and her card was declined. Then my corporate assistant called me panicking because our primary operational account for the logistics firm is showing a zero balance and a security hold!"
I took a slow sip of my black coffee, looking out over the city.
"Your primary operational account?" I mused aloud. "You mean the account that has been entirely sustained by quarterly capital injections from my venture capital portfolio for the last thirty-six months?"
A heavy silence fell over the line.
"What are you talking about?" Daniel whispered, his voice dropping an octave as doubt finally began to poison his mind. "Your freelance writing... your little tech investments... you barely make five figures a year!"
"Bless your heart, Daniel," I said softly, letting a cold edge cut through every word. "You really believed that, didn't you? You and your mother looked at me like a stray dog you took in out of pity, never once wondering why the business deals you pitched always magically succeeded, why your failing logistics startup suddenly landed Fortune 500 contracts, or who was really funding your lavish lifestyle."
"You're lying," he choked out. "You're a gold-digger. Mom was right about you—"
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"Go ask your mother about the holding company," I interrupted smoothly. "Ask her whose name is on the master deed of the Oakridge Estate. Ask her who owns the land your precious family legacy is built on. You have twenty-four hours to pack your things, Daniel. After that, the eviction notices go public."
I hung up before he could scream another word.
