Chapter 2

The guest house. It felt less like an offer and more like an eviction. I approached the detached cottage at the edge of Cole' s sprawling estate. The smart lock, usually recognizing my fingerprint, flashed an angry red.

"Access denied," a cold, synthesized voice announced.

My breath hitched. He had already changed the codes. He had locked me out.

Just then, the door swung open from the inside. Britney stood there, a smirk playing on her lips. She wasn' t wearing the sapphire pendant now, but a silk robe, one of mine. The blush-pink one I loved. It clung to her curves, a second skin. Her hair was still damp from a shower, framing her deceptively innocent face.

"Oh, Emma," she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Did Cole lock you out? He can be so dramatic sometimes. Don't worry, I'll let you in." She stepped aside, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

I walked past her, the scent of my expensive jasmine body wash clinging to her. My jaw ached from clenching. The guest house, once a cozy retreat for visitors, had been transformed. My books, my art, my personal touches – gone. Britney' s bright, garish throws were draped over the antique furniture. Her cheap, cloying perfume warred with the faint, lingering scent of my own home.

In the corner, my belongings were piled haphazardly, a jumbled mess of boxes and suitcases. My life, reduced to an undignified heap. Above them, on a pristine white shelf, were Britney' s perfectly arranged skincare products and stacks of glossy fashion magazines. My space, usurped.

A sudden voice cut through my thoughts. "What's taking so long, Brit?"

Cole emerged from the bedroom, shirtless, a towel casually slung over his shoulder. He ran a hand through his damp hair. His eyes, when they landed on me, were devoid of any warmth. A flicker of disgust, perhaps. Definitely annoyance.

Britney immediately rushed to his side, clutching his arm and burying her face into his chest. "Oh, Cole, Emma's just... she's upset. She saw my new robe, and I think she recognized it." She sniffled dramatically. My silk robe. It was her way of twisting the knife.

Cole' s gaze hardened. He pulled Britney closer, his eyes narrowing at me. "Emma, this is ridiculous. You're making a scene. Can't you just collect your things and go to the basement apartment? It's perfectly livable."

The basement apartment. The dark, damp space beneath the guest house, used for storage. A place I hadn't set foot in for years. He wasn't just kicking me out; he was burying me alive.

My heart felt like a lead weight, sinking. But I wouldn' t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. I met his cold gaze squarely. "Fine," I said, the word barely audible. "The basement apartment it is."

Cole blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He must have expected an argument, tears, a fight. My calm response seemed to throw him off. Britney, too, looked surprised, her sniffles dying down.

"Look, Emma," Cole said, recovering quickly. "Don't be like this. I'll make sure you're taken care of financially. A generous settlement. You won't have to worry about a thing." He gestured vaguely, as if tossing me a bone. "Just sign the papers when Mr. Davies sends them."

My calm snapped. The words tasted like ash. My father's legacy, reduced to a "generous settlement."

"You think money fixes everything, Cole?" I asked, my voice rising, an unfamiliar tremor in it. "You think you can buy away betrayal? Buy away what you did to my father? To us?"

His face went blank. "Don't bring your father into this, Emma. You're being irrational."

But I was already turning, my steps firm, heading towards the narrow, dimly lit staircase that led down to the cellar. I didn't spare them another glance. Their shocked faces, their whispers, faded behind me as I descended into the cold, musty air.

The basement was a labyrinth of forgotten things. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light filtering through a high, grimy window. Old furniture draped in white sheets, forgotten boxes. My eyes scanned the shadows, searching. I remembered. It was here. My father's secret stash. A small, built-in safe, hidden behind a loose stone in the wall.

He' d shown it to me when I was a child, a game we played. "This is where I keep my deepest secrets, Emma-bug," he'd said, his eyes twinkling. "Only you know the code." It wasn't about secrets, not really. It was about trust. About us.

My fingers found the rough stone, pushed it aside. A small, steel safe. The dial, cold under my touch. The numbers, etched forever in my memory. My father's birthdate, then my mother's, then mine. I spun the dial, each click a beat of my racing heart.

The heavy door swung open with a soft thud. No jewels. No stacks of cash. Just a thick, yellowed stack of documents, tied with a faded ribbon, and a single, tarnished silver ring. My mother's engagement ring.

I pulled out the documents. They were old company records, financial statements, legal papers. My father's meticulous handwriting filled the margins. As I read, a cold, hard truth began to crystallize within me. The hostile takeover of Russell Technologies wasn't just a business deal gone wrong. It was a calculated, brutal strike.

Cole Woodard. His name appeared again and again, not as an employee, but as an architect of the fall. He hadn't just married the grieving daughter of a tech visionary. He had orchestrated the downfall of David Russell's empire. He had used my father's trusted executive – Britney's father – to gain inside access. He had driven my father to his grave, then married me to consolidate the remaining intellectual property, to secure his ill-gotten gains.

My hands clenched, the papers crinkling. The man I had loved, the man I had married, was a viper. He had used my grief, my trust, to build his own empire on the ashes of my father's. Every tender word, every shared dream, every anniversary dinner – a lie. A calculated step in his ruthless ascent.

The anger was a roaring fire in my veins now, hotter and fiercer than anything I'd ever felt. It wasn't just betrayal. It was desecration. He didn't just steal my love; he stole my family, my legacy, my entire past. He was the reason my father was gone.

This wasn't just about reclaiming my life. It was about tearing down his. Atom by atom.