Chapter 7

Idella stood completely still on the thick wool carpet, her toes numb inside her cheap sneakers. She held her breath and leaned closer to the millimeter-wide gap in the heavy mahogany door.

Inside the dimly lit office, the blinds were drawn. Angelita was perched sideways on the armrest of Fount's massive leather chair.

Angelita's long fingers were lazily tracing the collar of Fount's shirt, twisting his silk tie.

"Gentle?" Fount's deep voice rumbled. He reached up, wrapping his large hand around Angelita's waist and pulling her flush against his side. "I froze her accounts and took her dog's surgery money. She's broken."

Idella's pupils dilated. The cruelty in his voice wasn't business; it was sadistic pleasure.

Angelita rested her head on Fount's shoulder, sighing dramatically. "I know. But Austin is getting older. When are you going to give him a real, legal title? I'm so tired of watching that stupid woman parade around as Mrs. Fitzgerald."

Idella's brain short-circuited. Legal title?

Austin was born via an anonymous surrogate because Idella had been diagnosed with severe infertility right after the wedding. Why was Angelita demanding a title for a surrogate's child?

Fount stroked Angelita's back, his voice softening into a tone Idella had never, ever heard him use.

"Patience, Angie," Fount murmured. "Once the board elections are finalized next month, I'll dispose of Idella permanently. I only married her because the shareholders were threatening to oust me over my bachelor lifestyle. She was the perfect, pathetic shield."

Idella slapped both hands over her mouth to muffle the scream tearing up her throat. Tears of pure shock flooded her eyes.

Then, Angelita dropped the bomb that shattered Idella's entire universe.

"But Austin is our flesh and blood, Fount," Angelita whined, her voice tightening with jealousy. "He can't keep calling that barren loser 'Mom' in public."

Fount pressed a kiss to Angelita's forehead. "I know. He carries both our bloodlines. He is my only true heir."

Idella's knees buckled. She slammed her back against the cold wall of the corridor, sliding down until she hit the floor.

Her stomach violently convulsed. She clamped a hand over her mouth, fighting the physical urge to vomit.

Our flesh and blood.

The puzzle pieces violently slammed together in her mind. Austin's identical eyes. The maids' absolute deference to Angelita. Fount's complete lack of physical intimacy with Idella for three years.

Her infertility diagnosis. The doctor who delivered the news was Fount's private physician.

It was all a lie. Fount wasn't just cold; he was a monster. He had married her to cover up his incestuous affair with his adopted sister, using Idella as a legal incubator to legitimize their bastard child.

A soft, sultry moan from Angelita, followed by Fount's low, indulgent chuckle, slipped through the crack in the door. It was a sound of ultimate, sickening intimacy that echoed in the quiet hallway.

Idella's fingernails dug into the expensive wallpaper, tearing the fabric. She wanted to kick the door open. She wanted to grab the heavy bronze statue on the desk and smash it into their smiling faces.

But the cold, rational part of her scientist brain kicked in. If she walked in there now, she had nothing. She was broke, powerless, and alone. They would crush her like a bug.

A soft ding echoed from the far end of the hallway. The elevators. The secretaries were coming back.

Panic spiked in Idella's chest. She scrambled to her feet, her rubber soles silent on the carpet, and sprinted back to the heavy fire door.

She slipped into the concrete stairwell just as the chatter of voices filled the corridor.

The heavy metal door clicked shut. Idella collapsed onto the concrete stairs. She buried her face in her knees and let out a silent, agonizing sob. Her entire body shook as three years of her life were ripped away and burned to ash.

She cried until her throat was raw and her stomach cramped with dry heaves.

Slowly, the tears stopped. Idella lifted her head. The vulnerability in her eyes was gone, replaced by a terrifying, glacial emptiness.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. The lock screen was a photo of her mother.

She wiped her face. She was going to save her mother. And then, she was going to burn the Fitzgerald empire to the ground.

Suddenly, the phone in her hand vibrated violently.

An unknown number from Silicon Valley, California, flashed on the screen.