The wedding dress was covered in gray dust, and my makeup was ruined and smudged across my face.
But my eyes were no longer those of an excited, naive bride.
They were the cold, sharp eyes of a woman who had just woken up from a long, dangerous dream.
I stripped off the expensive dress, threw on a pair of jeans and a simple sweatshirt, grabbed my purse, and snuck out through the service stairs.
At one in the morning, I stood in the street and called my father.
“Dad,” I said, my voice steady and firm for the first time in months.
“You were right all along, and I need you to wake up Rebecca, the lead attorney, because Elias and his mother are trying to destroy me.”
My father was silent for a fleeting second before he spoke.
“Where are you right now, sweetheart?”
“I am on my way home,” I told him.
“Then come quickly, daughter,” he said with a dangerous tone.
“If they want war, then they are going to get the war of their lives.”
I had no idea then what that recording would cause, nor did I realize just how quickly Elias would sink beneath the weight of his own calculated lies.
CHAPTER 2: THE TRAP IS SET
When I arrived at my father’s estate, the massive iron gates swung open before I could even reach the driveway.
My dad was waiting for me in his study wearing a heavy robe, his face looking harder and more focused than I had ever seen it.
Standing next to him was Rebecca, my closest friend and one of the most ruthless corporate lawyers in the entire legal industry.
They did not ask me if I was okay, because the look on my face told them everything they needed to know.
I placed my cell phone on the mahogany desk and played the audio file for them.
Cynthia’s voice filled the quiet, somber room with every ugly, calculated word.
“Ella is just a low-level secretary.”
“We are going to reclaim the penthouse.”
“Elias has to put up with her for one year.”
“Brenda’s baby needs a proper room.”
My father clenched his jaw so tightly I thought he might actually break a tooth.
“I am going to destroy them completely,” he said, his voice cold as ice.
“No, not yet,” I replied, feeling a strange sense of calm.
“If we attack them now, they will claim I am a bitter wife or a woman having a mental breakdown.”
“I want concrete proof, and I want them to sign their own death warrants.”
Rebecca barely smiled, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes.
