Chapter 3 - The Audit of the Estate
The heavy oak doors of the mansion’s private study clicked shut, sealing out the echoes of the panicked exodus. The room was dark, paneled in rich mahogany, and smelled faintly of aged scotch and burning cedar.
Vanessa stood by the fireplace, shaking with fury and humiliated tears. “Have you lost your mind, Dominic? You humiliated me in front of the entire city! You defended a common delivery girl over your future wife!”
Dominic sat behind a massive oak desk, not looking at Vanessa at all. He was flipping through a thick tablet display handed to him by Marcus, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Marcus,” Dominic said, his voice dangerously low. “Read aloud what the delivery logs show for the past seven weeks.”
Marcus cleared his throat, tapping the screen. “Yes, Mr. Moretti. Per the security gateway records and audio logs retrieved from the side service entrance: Miss Carter was systematically forced to wait outside in inclement weather ranging from forty-minute delays to over an hour on multiple occasions. Furthermore, outbound communications from Miss Whitmore’s personal device reveal targeted online harassment campaigns mocking the victim’s vehicle and personal background.”
Vanessa’s face drained of color. “That’s—that’s a lie! She’s making it up! The girl is unhinged!”
“The security cameras record audio and video, Vanessa,” Dominic said, finally lifting his head. His gray eyes were like chips of winter ice. “Every harsh word. Every manufactured slight. Every malicious cancellation of tips designed to starve her family.”
He stood up, walking around the desk with slow, deliberate steps.
“You knew her mother was sick,” Dominic continued, his voice dropping into a quiet register that terrified Vanessa more than shouting ever could. “You used her desperate need for income to turn my estate into your personal playground of cruelty. And worse... you did it under my roof, using my name as a shield.”
“We’re getting married!” Vanessa screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. “My father controls the shipping lines out of Gary! You need our alliance!”
“I built my empire on iron, concrete, and absolute loyalty,” Dominic snarled, stopping inches from her. “An alliance built on a foundation of sociopathic cruelty is not an asset. It’s a liability.”
He reached out, caught her left hand, and with a sharp, merciless tug, pulled the multi-carat diamond engagement ring off her finger.
Vanessa let out a strangled cry. “Dominic, no! You can’t do this!”
“The wedding is canceled,” Dominic stated with absolute finality. He tossed the ring onto the mahogany desk. “Marcus, have her belongings packed and escorted off my property within the hour. If she contacts my offices again, deal with her father’s shipping contracts accordingly.”
Vanessa lunged forward, but Marcus stepped seamlessly into her path, his broad frame blocking her way. Realizing she had completely lost, Vanessa pointed a trembling, venomous finger at Avery, who stood quietly near the doorway.
“You think you’ve won?” Vanessa shrieked, tears streaming down her ruined makeup as guards dragged her toward the door. “He doesn't care about you! You’re nothing! A beggar in a junker car! He’ll chew you up and spit you out just like everyone else!”
The heavy oak doors slammed shut, cutting off her hysterical screams.
The study plunged into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Avery stood by the door, clutching her damp delivery jacket to her chest. Her adrenaline was beginning to fade, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache in her cheek and the overwhelming realization of what had just happened. She had just assaulted a billionaire’s fiancée in front of sixty witnesses, and the billionaire had rewarded her by dismantling his own engagement.
It made no sense. Nothing about this man made sense.
“You should go home, Avery,” Dominic said quietly, walking back to his desk and pouring two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass.
May you like
“Is that an order?” she asked, her voice carrying a sharp, defensive edge.
Dominic paused, taking a slow sip of the scotch before looking back at her. “It’s advice. Cicero is forty miles away, and your car window is still patched with plastic. You won’t make it halfway in this storm.”
