Chapter 3 - The Sunday Morning Inundation
The sun rose on Sunday morning not with a glorious burst of light, but with a heavy, oppressive gray fog that rolled off the Maple Ridge hills, blanketing the Vale estate in a ghostly shroud. I had barely slept two hours, curled up on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room while Adrian worked through the night, coordinating with his legal assets in New York and Chicago.
At 9:00 a.m., my phone—the personal line my family thought I kept turned off during my "bridal bliss"—began to buzz violently against the marble nightstand. It was a call from my mother, Eleanor.
Adrian looked up from his monitor, a silicone mask of an old man sitting on the desk beside him like a discarded skull. "Answer it," he murmured. "Let’s see how the celebration is going."
I swiped the screen and placed it on speaker.
"Evelyn!" my mother’s voice shrilled through the line, accompanied by the clinking of crystal glasses and the distant sound of jazz music. She was clearly hosting her post-wedding brunch at the country club. "Darling, I hope we aren't interrupting your privacy. But Marcus is sitting here with the accountant, and they’re just checking the pending wire transfers. Mr. Vale’s bank hasn't released the confirmation code yet. Is everything alright? Is he... comfortable?"
The underlying disgust in her voice was palpable—she was asking if the eighty-year-old man she had forced me to sleep with was still alive and compliant.
I looked at Adrian, who was watching me with a cold, unreadable expression.
"Everything is perfectly fine, Mother," I said, my voice smooth, projecting the exact image of the submissive, quiet daughter they expected. "Mr. Vale is a very precise man. He told me his financial handlers perform their security clearances on Monday mornings at dawn. The money will be there."
"Oh, thank goodness," Eleanor breathed, a massive, audible sigh of relief escaping her lips. "You have no idea the stress your father has been under, Evelyn. Marcus had to close two accounts yesterday just to keep the country club membership active. You’ve done a wonderful thing for this family, darling. Truly. One night of being a good, obedient wife, and we are secure for the winter. Make sure you keep him happy today. Take him out to the terrace if the fog clears."
"I’ll make sure he gets exactly what he deserves, Mother," I said, my fingers tracing the edge of the vanity.
"That’s my good girl. We’ll talk on Tuesday after the audit clears. Kisses!"
The line went dead. I stared at the phone, a cold, hollow feeling settling in my stomach. One night of being a good, obedient wife, she had said. She didn't care if I was bruised, she didn't care if I was broken—she only cared that the country club membership remained active.
"They really view you as an item on a balance sheet," Adrian said quietly, his voice lacking its previous sarcastic edge. He stood up, walking over to a silver cart in the corner, and poured two cups of black coffee. He handed one to me. "My father used to say that some people are so poor, the only thing they have is money. The Vance family doesn't even have that. They have the appearance of it, sustained by the blood of people like us."
"People like us," I repeated, tasting the bitter, hot coffee. "Are we a team now, Adrian? Or am I just the insider asset you use until the contracts clear?"
Adrian stepped close, his blue eyes boring into mine with a sudden, intense seriousness. He reached down, taking the coffee cup from my hands and setting it on the table. Then, he took my hands in his. His skin was warm, firm, and entirely devoid of the frail deception he had worn the day before.
"When I started this plan three years ago, Evelyn, I thought I was completely alone in the dark," he said, his voice dropping into a harsh, emotional whisper. "I thought everyone with the name Vance was my enemy. But you... you aren't a Vance. You’re the ghost they left behind in their scramble for the top. As long as you stand by me, this isn't just an asset deployment. This is a joint venture. We split the spoils, and we split the revenge."
May you like
Before I could reply, the security monitor near the doorway flashed red. A live camera feed showed a sleek, black sports car tearing up the winding driveway of the estate, its tires throwing gravel into the mist.
It was Marcus’s car. And he wasn't arriving for a polite family visit.
