Chapter 3 3

The heavy oak doors of the Blanchard manor groaned as Anona pushed them open. The foyer was exactly as she remembered: cold, imposing, and smelling of lemon polish and old money.

Her mother, Eleanor Blanchard, was arranging lilies in a crystal vase. She didn't look up.

You're early, Eleanor said. Alexander told me you have a gala tonight.

Anona walked to the center of the room. Her legs felt like lead.

I want a divorce, Mother. He's insane.

Eleanor froze. She set down a lily and walked briskly to the parlor doors, closing them with a sharp click. She turned on Anona, her face twisted in a scowl.

Have you lost your mind? Eleanor hissed. The merger papers are being signed next week. If you leave him now, the Blanchard name is mud. We lose the capital injection. We lose everything.

Anona stared at the woman who gave birth to her. I care about my life, Mother. Not Father's business.

Your life is this business, Eleanor snapped. Go back. Apologize to Alexander. Fix your face.

Anona shook her head, backing away toward the stairs. No.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A relentless, angry vibration.

She pulled it out. Alexander.

She answered and put it on speaker.

Done crying to mommy? Alexander's voice drawled, tinny and cruel. Check your email.

Anona's hands trembled as she pulled her tablet from her bag. She tapped the mail icon.

A legal notice. Breach of contract. Moral turpitude clause.

And attachments.

Photos. Grainy, out of context. Anona having coffee with a male classmate from college three years ago. Anona hugging her cousin.

Alexander laughed softly on the other end. You want a divorce? Fine. Admit to the affair. Leave with nothing. I'll ruin you in the press by morning.

It's a lie! Anona shouted, her voice cracking. That was three years ago!

The media doesn't care about timestamps, Anona. They care about headlines. 'Pregnant Caldwell Wife Caught Cheating.' Has a nice ring to it.

Gaslighting. He was trying to make her doubt her own reality, trying to crush her beneath the weight of a fabricated sin.

Anona took a deep breath. She forced the tremor out of her voice.

If you release those, I release Christy Shaw's payroll records. I know you're funneling company money to her.

Silence on the line. Heavy and dangerous.

You touch Christy, Alexander whispered, his voice dropping an octave, and I pull the plug on your sister.

The air left Anona's lungs.

The facility is owned by a shell company I control, Anona. One phone call, and her ventilator stops.

The line went dead.

Anona sank onto the bottom step of the grand staircase. The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the marble floor.

Her sister. The only person in this world who had ever loved her without a price tag.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach. If Alexander knew she was actually pregnant-if he knew the IVF worked-he would own this child too.

She couldn't fight him with anger. She couldn't fight him with truth.

She needed leverage. Nuclear leverage.

Anona stood up. She wiped her face. She walked up the stairs, past her old bedroom, to the hidden wall safe in the back of her closet.

She spun the dial. Left, right, left.

Inside sat a battered black laptop. It hadn't been turned on in two years.

She opened it. The screen flickered to life, casting a blue glow on her face.

She wasn't just Anona Blanchard, the trophy wife. She was Oracle.

She cracked her knuckles. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, bypassing the firewalls she had helped build.

If he wanted a war, she would burn his kingdom down from the inside.