flash
The silence in the master bedroom was deafening after the call ended. I held the phone against my chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of my heart for the first time in three years. For thirty-six months, I had shrunk myself to fit into Spencer Reed’s world. I had worn modest clothes, stayed out of the spotlight, and endured his subtle condescension—all because I wanted a simple life away from my father’s overwhelming legacy. I wanted to be loved for me, not for the Harrell name. / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - THE TRAP IS SET

Three days passed.

The news of the scandal dominated every financial tabloid and social media platform. Headlines read: "REED LOGISTICS COLLAPSES AFTER CEO'S DISASTROUS BETRAYAL" "THE HARRELL HEIR REVEALED: PHOEBE HARRELL CRUSHES EX-HUSBAND IN COURT"

Spencer was ruined. His mansion was placed under bank foreclosure, his cars were repossessed, and his shareholders had ousted him as CEO.

Paisley had abandoned him the second his bank accounts were frozen, leaving him in a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city.

Inside the sleek executive office on the 50th floor of Harrell Tower, Phoebe sat behind a mahogany desk, reviewing the final liquidation reports for Reed Logistics.

Harrison knocked politely before entering. "Miss Harrell, Spencer Reed’s personal accounts have been successfully attached to the court judgment. He has nothing left."

Phoebe looked out at the city skyline. She didn't feel joy, nor did she feel hatred. She simply felt relieved. The weight she had carried for three years was finally gone.

"Thank you, Harrison," she said quietly. "Has he tried to contact me?"

"Repeatedly," Harrison replied. "His calls are blocked, but his former housekeeper, Mrs. Evelyn, called our office an hour ago. She said Spencer visited the old estate last night looking for you. He seemed... unstable."

Phoebe’s phone chimed on the desk. It was an encrypted text message from an unregistered number.

Phoebe. I’m at the old cabin near Lake Crest. The place where we spent our first anniversary before everything went wrong. I have your mother’s old lockbox—the one you left behind in the attic. If you want it back before I burn it, come alone. If I see security, I throw it into the fire.

Phoebe’s breath hitched.

Her mother had passed away when she was ten years old. The lockbox contained the only hand-written letters her mother had ever left for her. When she married Spencer, she had hidden it in the attic of their lake house, intending to keep it safe. In her rush to leave three days ago, she had forgotten it.

"Miss Harrell?" Harrison asked, noticing her sudden change in expression. "Is everything alright?"

Phoebe quickly minimized the screen. "Yes, Harrison. Just a legal update. You may take the rest of the evening off."

"Are you sure, ma'am? Your father requested that I accompany you everywhere."

"I’m just going to stay in the office for a few hours to finish paperwork," Phoebe lied smoothly, offering a reassuring smile. "I’ll have the driver take me home later."

Harrison hesitated, then bowed. "As you wish, Miss Harrell."

May you like

The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped, dimly lit kitchen, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest raging inside Adrian Whitmore’s mind. Standing just beyond the rotting wooden doorframe of her apartment, hidden by the heavy shadows of the crumbling stairwell, the millionaire tried to steady his breathing. His expensive wool coat was soaked through, but he didn’t care. His eyes were entirely fixed on the scene unfolding a few feet away.

The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped,...

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, the source of the warmth against my side wasn't an assassin, an operative from a rival syndicate, or a traitorous lieutenant.

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath...

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the slow, heavy drip of my own pulse in my ears. Dominic Rossi’s dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a feverish intensity that should have sent me running back down the hallway and out into the rain

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the sl...

Once Harrison left the room, Phoebe pulled the lockbox key from her purse. She knew Spencer was desperate. She knew it was likely a trap. But she could not allow the last memory of her mother to be destroyed by a bitter, defeated man.

Taking a small concealed taser from her desk drawer, she placed it in her coat pocket and walked toward the private elevator.

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