"Happy third anniversary, Derek," I whispered to the empty air.

I stood in the shadows of the underground parking garage, rolling the custom leather key fob between my fingers. The black Porsche crest dug into my skin, a solid reminder of what I had accomplished.

"I know you said we couldn't afford a celebration this year," I continued, practicing my speech to a concrete pillar. "But I wanted to give you something real. Something to show you how much I believe in you."

Three days ago, I sat in a luxury dealership and wired every penny of my savings to buy the Cayenne. I paid in cash. No loans. No debt. Just massive, undeniable proof my loyalty to the man I planned to marry.

A rhythmic, metallic squeak echoed through the silent garage.

Fifty feet ahead, parked in the VIP spot Derek always used, sat the matte-black Cayenne.

It was rocking.

Three years ago, I slept four hours a night. I scrubbed diner floors until my knees bled and worked double shifts at a call center just to hand him a fifty-thousand-dollar cashier’s check. His startup capital.

But as I stepped out from behind the pillar, the truth hit me square in the chest.

I slammed my palm flat against the tinted driver's side window.

"Derek!" I screamed.

The rocking stopped instantly. A frantic, desperate rustling erupted inside the cabin.

The glass glided down with a soft mechanical hum.

Derek sat in the driver’s seat. His chest was bare, sweat shining on his collarbone. He didn't look panicked. He didn't even look guilty. He just looked severely annoyed.

"What the hell are you doing here, Chloe?" he snapped. He dragged a hand through his messy brown hair, glaring at me as if I had interrupted a business meeting.

My gaze snapped to the passenger seat.

Mia.

The wealthy, twenty-two-year-old intern from his marketing department. The same girl who spent her lunch breaks loudly critiquing my discount-rack clothes whenever I brought Derek his homemade meals. She was currently struggling to pull a silk camisole over her lace bra.

"You gave her the car?" I asked. My voice came out dangerously flat. "The car I just bought you?"

Derek let out a mocking laugh. He leaned his elbow out the window, unashamed of his half-naked state.

"I'm breaking it in," he said, smirking. "Mia appreciates luxury. You just know how to pay for it."

"Get out of the car," I demanded, stepping closer to the door.

"Or what?" Mia chimed in. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and offered a sickeningly sweet smile. "You'll ruin your cheap shoes throwing a tantrum?"

"This is my vehicle," I said, staring directly at Derek. "I hold the title. Step out."

"Oh, please," Derek sneered. "You bought it as a gift for me. It's mine. Besides, what are you going to do with a Porsche? Drive it to your second job at the diner?"

Mia giggled, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. "She probably doesn't even know how to start it, Derek."

"I know how to report it stolen," I shot back, my voice remarkably steady. "Get out of my car, Derek. Both of you."

Derek’s amusement vanished, replaced by a dark scowl. "You wouldn't dare. My investors are in town this week. If you pull any crazy stunts and embarrass me, I'll make sure you get nothing when I break the engagement."

"You already gave me nothing," I said. "Three years together, and this is what I get? Watching you screw an intern in the car I paid for?"

"Don't call me an intern," Mia snapped, her eyes narrowing. "I have more connections in my pinky finger than you'll ever have in your entire pathetic life. Derek is upgrading. Deal with it."

Derek rolled his eyes, clearly tired of the conversation. He reached down into the center console, rummaging for a second. He pulled his hand up, pinched two fingers together, and flicked his wrist toward my face.

A wet, rubbery object slapped against my cheek.

It dropped to the pavement with a sickening splat.

A used condom.

"Back off, Chloe," Derek warned, his eyes turning cold and hard. "Don't smudge the paint. I just got this waxed."

The latex lay near the toe of my sneaker.

No tears came. An icy calm washed over my brain, freezing the panic and the heartbreak that tried to claw up my throat. He wanted to treat me like trash? Fine.

I shoved the custom Porsche key into my pocket. I pulled out my phone and unlocked the screen.

I hit record.

The camera flash strobed in the dark garage, blinding them. It illuminated Derek’s bare chest and Mia’s half-exposed breasts in unforgiving detail.

"Hey!" Derek shouted. He threw a hand over his face. "Put that away!"

"Smile for my attorney," I said. I kept the lens steady on his panicked expression.

"Are you crazy?" Mia shrieked.

She scrambled backward against the leather seat, her elbow slamming into the door handle.

"Delete that right now, Chloe!" Derek yelled. He reached out the window, swiping blindly at my phone.

I took a quick step back, keeping him in frame. "Assaulting me on camera won't help your civil case, Derek. Especially since you used my money to fund that pathetic tech startup of yours."

"It's my company!" he roared, his face turning red. "You just handed me the cash! I did the actual work!"

"We'll see what the judge thinks about that," I said, zooming in on his furious face.

Mia let out a high-pitched wail. "Derek, if this gets out, my family will kill me! Make her stop!"

"I'm trying!" Derek yelled back.

The passenger door swung open.

Mia tumbled out, clutching her designer purse to her chest. She stumbled against the concrete pillar. The expensive bag tipped upside down.

A gold compact, a tube of lipstick, and a thick, black-and-gold business card spilled onto the dusty floor.

"Mia, wait!" Derek yelled, scrambling to find his shirt in the backseat.

Mia ignored him. She gathered her makeup, missing the cardboard square that had slid near my foot. She shoved her way past the hood of the car, sprinting toward the garage exit. Her rapid footsteps echoed sharply against the concrete walls.

"Mia!" Derek punched the steering wheel. He glared at me. "You ruined everything!"

"I think you managed that on your own," I replied.

I lowered my phone and ended the recording.

The business card rested right next to the discarded condom.

I placed my sneaker over the card, pinning it to the ground. I crouched down, ignoring Derek’s continued shouting from the driver's seat, and picked it up.

Embossed gold lettering caught the dim overhead light.

Julian Vance.

CEO, Vance Group.

Below the corporate title, a private family contact number was printed in elegant script.

Mia wasn't just an intern. She was a Vance.

My thumb traced the raised letters of the name, locking onto the one man who could tear Derek's entire company to the ground.

"You have sixty seconds before my security team removes you from this building," Julian Vance said.

He did not turn his leather executive chair away from the glass. He sat facing the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top-floor suite, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city skyline below.

I pushed open the glass doors, my stained sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished marble floor. "Call them," I said, my voice bouncing off the high ceilings. "But your board of directors might want to hear what I have to say first."

Julian rotated his chair around. His dark eyes locked onto mine, cold and sharp. He wore a tailored charcoal suit that made Derek look like a child playing dress-up in his father's clothes.

"You trespassed through my private elevator," Julian said. "You have fifty seconds."

"I used the family emergency code printed on your card," I replied. I marched straight across the Persian rug toward him. "And trust me, this is an emergency."

"Who are you?"

"Chloe Bennett," I said. "I'm the woman whose fiancé is currently sleeping with your little sister."

I reached the his mahogany desk and slapped the black-and-gold business card down onto the wood. Beside it, I dropped a stack of glossy, eight-by-ten photographs I had printed at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy half an hour ago.

The top image showed Derek’s bare chest and Mia’s half-unbuttoned silk camisole, illuminated by the harsh flash of my phone camera inside the Porsche.

Julian did not blink. "Mia is twenty-two. She makes poor choices."

"Sleeping with an engaged man isn't just a poor choice, Mr. Vance. It's a public relations disaster," I said. I leaned my palms flat against the cool mahogany. "Your company goes public next month. How much is Vance Group stock going to drop when tabloids run headlines about the CEO's sister playing mistress to a broke startup founder?"

"Are you attempting to blackmail me?"

"I'm offering you a containment strategy," I shot back. "Derek used three years of my life savings to fund his company, and now he's using your sister to climb the social ladder. He thinks marrying a Vance will guarantee his next round of venture capital."

"He's an opportunist," Julian remarked, his tone flat.

"He's a parasite," I corrected. "And right now, Mia is paying for his meals."

Julian leaned forward and picked up the top photograph.

His eyes scanned the digital timestamp in the corner, then shifted to Mia's face in the passenger seat of the Cayenne. A slight crease appeared between his brows.

He set the picture back down and tapped the gold nib of his fountain pen twice against the mahogany surface. Tap. Tap.

"How much do you want?" he asked.

"I don't want your money," I said, my jaw clenching. "I want my car back, and I want my fiancé ruined."

"You bought him a Porsche Cayenne?"

"Every cent," I said. "Cash. I scrubbed floors and worked double shifts at a call center while he pretended to build a tech empire."

Julian studied me in silence. I braced for anger. I expected him to summon the guards, threaten me with corporate lawyers, or rip the photographs to shreds to protect his family name.

Instead, he stood up.

He was six-foot-two of solid, imposing calm. As he walked around the desk toward me, the physical pressure of his presence made my lungs tighten, but I refused to take a step back.

He stopped two feet in front of me.

"Your cheek," he said softly.

"What?"

He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a folded white cotton handkerchief, and held it out to me.

"You have a smudge on your face," he said. "And you look like you haven't slept in three days."

I stared at the clean fabric, remembering the rubbery slap of the condom Derek had flicked at me in the dark garage. Heat flared in my neck.

I took the cloth and wiped my cheekbone. "Thanks."

"You worked yourself to the bone for a man who treats you like trash," Julian said. It was not a question.

"I'm done working for him," I said, tossing the soiled handkerchief onto the his desk. "Now I want to tear down everything he thinks he's built."

"Mia told my investment board that Derek was a visionary," Julian said. "She submitted a proposal last Tuesday asking Vance Group to lead his seed funding round with five million dollars."

"Tell me you didn't sign it," I said.

"I don't sign contracts without vetting the principal," Julian replied.

He turned his back to me, walked to the phone console on his desk, and pressed a silver button.

"Elena," he said into the speaker.

"Yes, Mr. Vance?" a crisp voice answered.

"Contact the finance department. Freeze Mia's primary trust account and all secondary credit lines immediately."

"Sir? All of them?"

"Every dollar," Julian said. "And Elena? Pull the incubator file for Derek's startup. Cancel the seed funding offer."

"Right away, sir."

Julian released the button and looked at me. "Derek's company has three weeks of runway left without my capital. When Mia's accounts freeze, she won't be able to buy him a cup of coffee, let alone fund his lifestyle."

"He'll dump her the second the money stops," I said.

"No," Julian said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He will try to secure his position before he realizes the money is gone."

He opened a top brass drawer, reached inside, and pulled out a cream-colored envelope stamped with the gold Vance family crest.

He slid it across the polished mahogany until it stopped right at my fingertips.

"What is this?" I asked.

"An invitation to the annual charity gala tomorrow evening," Julian said. "Mia will be there. She plans to introduce Derek to my board members as her new partner."

I looked down at the embossed gold crest. "You want me to cause a scene?"

"I want you to take back what belongs to you," Julian said, his voice lowering as he tapped the invitation with his index finger. "Tomorrow night, we teach them what a price looks like."

"Good morning, babe," Derek called out.

I stopped halfway into the living room. My fingers tightened around the thick, gold-crested envelope Julian Vance had handed me hours ago.

Derek stood by the stove. He wore the navy-blue apron I bought him for Christmas, expertly flipping a sunny-side-up egg. The smell of sizzling butter filled the apartment we had shared for three years.

"You're up early," he said. He shot me a warm, practiced smile over his shoulder. He didn't mention the underground garage. He didn't mention Mia. He acted exactly as if I had just returned from a long shift at the diner.

"I made coffee," he added. He pointed a spatula at the steaming mug on the counter. "Sit down. We need to talk about some paperwork before I head to the office."

I stayed glued to the floorboards. "Paperwork."

"Yeah, just a minor headache." He transferred the egg to a ceramic plate, setting it next to a glass of warm milk. "The dealership called my cell this morning. They need the physical title and registration documents for the Cayenne. Just a clerical error with the warranty processing."

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and stepped toward me. His expression remained composed.

"Why would they call you?" I asked. "My name is on the purchase agreement."

Derek waved a hand dismissively. "I'm the primary driver. It's standard procedure for luxury vehicles. Anyway, where did you put the folder? I want to drop it off on my way to the startup incubator."

He reached out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

I swatted his hand away.

Derek frowned. He let his arm drop to his side. "What's your problem? I'm trying to handle the administrative mess so you don't have to worry about it."

I stared at his polished brown loafers. He always wore them around the house when he wanted to feel like a wealthy CEO.

I walked past him to the counter. I picked up the glass of hot milk and turned back to face him.

"A clerical error," I repeated.

"Exactly," he said. He held out his hand. "Just grab the folder from your desk drawer, Chloe."

I tilted my wrist.

The steaming white liquid splashed directly onto his expensive leather loafers and splattered against his bare ankles.

"What the hell are you doing?" Derek shouted. He jumped backward, swiping at his soaked pant legs. "Are you insane? These cost five hundred dollars!"

"Saving you a trip to the dealership," I said. My voice stayed flat.

I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket, unlocked the screen, and shoved it inches from his face.

The high-resolution photo of him and Mia half-naked in the Porsche glared under the harsh kitchen lights.

"You think I'm stupid, Derek?" I asked. "You want the title so you can transfer my car into your twenty-two-year-old mistress's name. You're trying to give Mia the vehicle I paid for."

Derek stared at the screen. His jaw tightened. The friendly fiancé facade melted away in an instant. His eyes darkened, fixing on the digital image.

"You didn't delete them," he said. His tone dropped into a dangerous, icy register.

"I backed them up to three different cloud servers," I replied. I pocketed the phone. "And I have the physical title locked in a safety deposit box you don't have the key to."

"You have no right to keep that car hostage," he snapped. He took a step forward. "My investors expect me to show up looking like a success. I need that Porsche to secure my next round of funding."

"You need it to impress a young heiress," I corrected. "You're selling out our engagement to fund a startup that hasn't made one dime in three years."

Derek lunged.

His hands clamped around the collar of my denim jacket. He twisted the fabric so hard it dug sharply into my neck. He slammed me backward. My spine hit the kitchen counter with a dull thud, rattling the ceramic plates behind me.

"Listen to me, you crazy bitch," he snarled. His face hovered inches from mine. The smell of his peppermint toothpaste made my stomach turn. "You are going to hand over that folder right now."

"Or what?" I choked out. I gripped his wrists.

"Or I will bury you!" he roared. Spittle flew from his lips. "You think you can play games with me? You are a waitress! A nobody! Mia comes from a family that could crush you by snapping their fingers. You have no money, no background, and no power to fight her."

He shook me. His fingers dug bruising crescents into my collarbone.

"Give me the damn title, Chloe. You owe me for putting up with your pathetic, penny-pinching lifestyle for three years. I deserve that car!"

My right arm swung upward before my brain even processed the command.

Smack.

My palm connected with his cheekbone in a explosive crack. The force of the blow snapped his head to the side.

Derek froze. His hands loosened their grip on my jacket. A bright red handprint blossomed across his pale skin.

He stared at the kitchen wall. He looked stunned, his chest heaving. He had never expected me to strike back. For three years, I had been the quiet, supportive fiancée who worked double shifts and swallowed every insult to fuel his dreams.

Not anymore.

I shoved his chest with both hands. I broke his hold completely.

"I don't owe you one cent," I said. I smoothed down my crumpled collar. "But you owe me fifty thousand dollars and a Porsche."

I turned my back on him and walked straight into the bedroom. My packed suitcase already sat by the foot of the bed. I had assembled it during the early hours of the morning before he woke up.

I grabbed the extendable handle and dragged the wheels across the hardwood floor.

"Where do you think you're going?" Derek yelled from the kitchen. His shock rapidly morphed back into rage. Heavy footsteps pounded against the floorboards as he chased after me.

"Anywhere but here," I said. I rolled the luggage into the hallway.

He stepped in front of the front door, blocking my exit. "If you walk out that door, you get nothing! I'll make sure my lawyers leave you with the clothes on your back!"

"Move, Derek."

"You think you can just leave?" he sneered. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You'll be crawling back to me by tomorrow when you realize you can't afford rent on your own."

I rammed the suitcase directly into his shins.

He cursed and stumbled sideways.

I pushed the front door open and stepped out into the cool corridor air. I didn't look back as I pulled the wood shut. The lock clicked firmly into place, cutting off his shouting.

I stood in the quiet hallway. My pulse pounded in my ears.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and stared at the glowing screen.

A text message from an unknown number sat at the top of my notifications.

Twenty-four hours. The video is ready.