My Husband's Business Partner

The morning sun filtered through the tall glass windows of the Donovan estate, casting a golden hue across the marble floors. Everything looked pristine. Polished. Silent. Just the way Bekett liked it.

Geraldine sat at the edge of the long dining table, her manicured fingers curled around a porcelain coffee cup. The silence in the room was thick-sterile, like a museum. She had grown used to this quiet, learned to breathe in it. But it didn't stop her from missing the chaos. The laughter. The warmth.

Reena's soft footsteps came down the stairs first, her twelve-year-old face still flushed from sleep, curls bouncing with each step. "Mom, is Dad here?"

"No, baby. He left before dawn," Geraldine replied, brushing a strand of hair behind Reena's ear. She didn't ask where Bekett had gone. She never did anymore.

"Lovia's still getting dressed," Reena said as she plopped down on the seat next to her. "She's mad about the uniform. Again."

Geraldine managed a smile. "I'll talk to her." She reached for the phone. No messages from Bekett. Not even a missed call.

By the time Lovia stormed into the room with her shirt half-tucked and lips pursed in protest, Geraldine had already packed their lunches. Lovia, at ten, had her father's eyes-cold, calculating, and too sharp for a child. Geraldine often wondered if that was nature or nurture.

"Reena's shirt fits better," Lovia muttered, pulling at her sleeves.

"They're the same size," Reena rolled her eyes.

"They're not the same. Nothing's ever the same for me."

Geraldine didn't argue. She knelt and straightened Lovia's collar, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You're perfect, okay? Now grab your bags. We're already late."

The drive to their elite private school was as uneventful as always. Security gates. Polished bricks. Rows of parents pretending their lives weren't in ruins under their designer sunglasses. Geraldine waited until the girls were inside before pulling out her phone again.

Still no message.

She sighed and adjusted the sunglasses on her face, then drove toward Bekett's office. She hadn't been invited-she never was-but she had questions. And for once, she didn't feel like waiting for his carefully crafted lies.

Bekett Donovan & Co. was more fortress than office, with black cars lining the lot and security detail that looked more military than corporate. But that was Bekett. Control freak. Obsessive. Calculated.

Geraldine walked in, her heels echoing sharply against the marble. The receptionist-a young, nervous girl who clearly hadn't been there long-stood quickly.

"Mrs. Donovan. I-uh-I didn't know you were coming."

"I didn't, either," Geraldine said calmly. "Is Bekett in?"

"Um, no. He left with Mr. Lachlan about an hour ago."

Geraldine's stomach dropped.

"Lachlan?"

The girl nodded. "He was here most of last night."

Her face didn't change, but inside, something curled. Tight and dark.

"I'll wait in his office."

The receptionist hesitated. "I don't think he-"

"I'm not asking," Geraldine said, voice sharper now. She pushed past her, heels clicking like a warning.

Bekett's office was darker than usual. No lights, no movement. Just the lingering scent of his cologne and cigar smoke that hadn't faded. She walked to his desk and stared at the photo frame-one of their wedding pictures. She was smiling. Bekett wasn't.

It had been an arranged marriage. Her father's idea of a business merger sealed with a diamond ring. Back then, she was twenty-one, foolish, and desperate to make the best of it. She thought maybe if she loved him hard enough, he'd soften.

Instead, he hardened.

She opened one of his desk drawers. Paperwork. Files. A USB drive tucked inside a folder labeled "Redwood."

Geraldine paused.

She'd heard the name before. In late-night calls. On whispered lips. Her fingers closed around the drive.

"Looking for something, Mrs. Donovan?"

She spun, heart lurching.

Lachlan stood in the doorway, a slow smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. His suit was dark, perfectly fitted, and he looked like sin in human form. Dangerous. Beautiful. Untrustworthy.

"Funny, you don't work here," Geraldine said, slipping the drive into her coat pocket without breaking eye contact.

Lachlan's eyes flicked to her hand-he'd seen-but he didn't comment.

"I'm your husband's business partner," he said casually. "And sometimes... his keeper."

"Keeper? Is that what you call it when you make late-night visits and disappear before sunrise?"

Lachlan took a step inside. "You're sharper than you look."

"And you're exactly what you look like." Her gaze was steel. "What's Redwood?"

He tilted his head, amused. "That depends. How badly do you want to know?"

Geraldine narrowed her eyes. "Enough to burn it all down."

For the first time, Lachlan's smile faded, just slightly. He studied her, and something shifted in his expression-curiosity, maybe. Respect.

"You should be careful, Geraldine," he said. "Your husband plays games with blood. And not everyone survives."

"Good," she whispered. "Let him bleed."

By the time she returned to the estate, the silence had turned into a storm. Her chest felt heavy, and every corner of the house reminded her of the cage she lived in. The expensive prison where her name was only useful when it served him.

But that drive... the one marked Redwood... it pulsed in her coat pocket like a live wire.

That night, after tucking in the girls, she locked her bedroom door and plugged the USB into her laptop.

One file. A single video.

She hit play.

Bekett appeared on screen-standing in a warehouse, surrounded by men. Armed. One of them was kneeling, bloodied. Geraldine's breath caught when she realized who it was.

Her father.

The laptop screen glowed like a secret in the dark. Geraldine's breath hitched as she paused the video and rewound it, unable to believe what she'd just seen. Her father-Grant Whitmore-on his knees, blood dripping down his temple, a split lip, and terror in his eyes. Bekett's voice echoed through the warehouse, cold and mechanical, like a man reciting the weather forecast.

"You made promises, Grant. You broke them."

Behind him, two men stood with assault rifles, faceless under shadows. Her father tried to speak-he was begging, Geraldine realized-but Bekett raised a hand, silencing him.

"This is business. You taught me that."

A gunshot. The screen shook. The video cut out.

Geraldine stared blankly, heart slamming against her ribs.

No one had ever told her the truth about her father's death.

She remembered the day like a scene sealed in glass-funeral flowers, the dry press release about a "tragic car accident," and Bekett standing beside her, hand on her lower back like support. Like a husband.

All lies.

Her entire marriage had been founded on one-inked in blood and secrets.

She didn't sleep that night. Instead, she sat by the bedroom window, watching the security guards pace the perimeter. The house felt more like a vault than ever. She thought about waking the girls and running-but where? Bekett owned everything. The house. The cars. The security. The schools.

The world.

And now she knew what he was truly capable of. Her father's murder wasn't business-it was betrayal tied up in a silk bow. And she was the prize, packaged in a marriage contract.

By sunrise, Geraldine had made up her mind. She couldn't play the quiet wife anymore. Not after this. There was no safety in silence.

But she would need leverage.

And she knew just the man to get it from.

Lachlan's building rose like a dark monolith in the middle of the city-a fortress of glass and secrets. Geraldine had only been there once, years ago, when he and Bekett first went into business. She remembered then how Lachlan had watched her-too closely. Like he saw through the diamonds and smiles.

This time, she didn't ask for permission. She simply walked past the receptionist, straight to the private elevator. One of the guards raised a brow, but didn't stop her. Geraldine Donovan still meant something in this city.

She stepped into his office without knocking.

Lachlan sat behind his desk, jacket draped on the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked tired-but amused.

"Well," he said, leaning back, "aren't you full of surprises."

"I watched the video."

He didn't pretend to be confused. He didn't even flinch.

"I assumed you would." Lachlan studied her face, as if cataloging every crack in her mask. "How much do you hate him now?"

"I want him ruined."

"That's a risky game, Mrs. Donovan."

"I'm already in the game. I just didn't realize I was the pawn."

Lachlan stood slowly, walking around the desk until he was only inches away. He didn't touch her-but his presence wrapped around her like smoke.

"And what would you trade, Geraldine?" he murmured. "For revenge?"

She met his gaze, chin lifted. "What do you want?"

His smile was sharp. "Everything he has."

Later that evening, as Geraldine picked up the girls from school, her face was calm, her smile intact. Reena chatted about math class and Lovia ranted about cafeteria food, and everything felt like a movie scene-perfect on the outside, twisted underneath.

Back at the house, she found Bekett in his study, a drink in hand, the fireplace casting a flicker across his face.

"You're home early," he said without looking up.

"I had a meeting."

He looked at her then, eyes narrowing slightly. "With who?"

"An old friend."

He sipped his drink slowly. "You're not as subtle as you think you are."

"And you're not as careful."

A tense silence fell between them. Geraldine saw the flicker of danger in his eyes-the same eyes Lovia had inherited. She hated that. Hated the thought that her children shared blood with a man who could pull a trigger on her father without blinking.

"Whatever you think you know-" Bekett began.

"I know you lied," she cut in, voice low. "About my father. About the marriage. About everything."

Bekett stood, slowly. "This life isn't kind, Geraldine. You were sheltered for a reason."

"I'm not sheltered anymore."

He walked toward her, slow and deliberate. "Be careful what you dig up. Some things are better buried."

She didn't back away. "So are you."

The smell of burnt toast and coffee filled the Donovan kitchen the next morning, but it was the only warmth in the house. Geraldine watched her daughters pack their bags at the counter. Reena was humming some Taylor Swift song under her breath while Lovia struggled with her shoelaces.

Everything looked normal.

But her world had shifted.

Bekett hadn't come to bed last night. She hadn't asked why.

Lovia's voice broke her train of thought. "Mom, can we come home early today? I don't want to do dance class."

"You love dance," Geraldine said, lowering herself to eye level.

"I don't love the teacher." Lovia's eyes were shadowed.

Reena cut in, voice soft, "Some boys were bothering her yesterday."

Geraldine's heart clenched. "What do you mean?"

"They were following her around the playground, saying weird stuff. One of them grabbed her arm."

"Did the teacher see?"

Reena shrugged. "I don't think so. Lovia didn't say anything."

Geraldine crouched down in front of Lovia, gently gripping her hands. "Sweetheart, you always tell me when something's wrong. Always. I need to protect you, okay?"

Lovia nodded but wouldn't meet her eyes.

Geraldine hugged her tightly and whispered, "No one touches you without your permission. Ever."

She dropped the girls off twenty minutes later but didn't drive away. Instead, she parked down the street, eyes fixed on the front gates of the prestigious Redwood Preparatory Academy.

Redwood.

The same name from the USB drive.

Coincidence? Or just another piece in Bekett's empire?

Thirty minutes later, Geraldine sat across from Principal Harris in his sterile office, staring at a wall lined with student trophies.

"No one reported any incident yesterday," he said in a clipped voice.

Geraldine's expression didn't waver. "Then the teachers are as blind as they are overpaid."

"I understand your concern, but-"

"No," she cut in. "You don't. If you did, there would already be an investigation. Cameras. Questions. Instead, my ten-year-old daughter gets harassed and no one blinks."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Mrs. Donovan, we take bullying seriously, but your husband has always instructed us to keep matters involving your children discrete."

Her heart dropped.

"My husband gave that order?"

Harris nodded, not realizing the fury he'd just unlocked. "Yes, ma'am. He said to inform him directly about any major issues."

Geraldine stood, clutching her purse. "Consider this major. And from now on, you answer to me."

She didn't wait for a reply. Outside, her hands were trembling. How deep did Bekett's control go? Into their education? Their safety?

She needed answers. Fast.

That night, Geraldine waited until the girls were asleep before dialing the number Lachlan had given her. He answered on the second ring.

"Mrs. Donovan," he drawled. "Couldn't resist me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I need information."

"I assumed as much."

"I want to know what Redwood is. All of it. Not just what you let slip."

Silence crackled on the other end before Lachlan exhaled.

"It's a front."

"For what?"

"For everything Bekett doesn't want traced. Guns. Money. Trafficking routes. Shell corporations. The school is part of it-clean laundering. A network of elite families who pay top dollar to keep their names off dirty files."

Geraldine's throat dried. "And my daughters?"

"They're in the safest place, ironically. The school's protected. But it's also watched."

She closed her eyes. "He's using our kids to cover his crimes."

"He's using everyone."

"What would it take to destroy it?"

"Everything you have. And everything you are."

"I'm ready," she whispered.

Lachlan chuckled softly. "You say that now."

The next morning, a black car followed Geraldine all the way to school.

Not discreetly.

The driver didn't hide. Didn't speed. Just stayed close enough to send a message.

She called Bekett.

He didn't pick up.

She called again. On the third ring, he answered.

"Don't follow me," she snapped before he could speak.

His tone was like ice. "You've been poking around where you shouldn't."

"I've been living in a lie. What did you expect?"

"Compliance."

"Well, you married the wrong woman."

He chuckled bitterly. "No, I married the right woman. You just forgot your place."

She didn't respond. Let the silence scream louder than her words. Then she ended the call.

That night, Geraldine couldn't sleep. Again. She walked the halls barefoot, the estate dark except for security lights glowing outside.

Near the back patio, she paused. The glass doors were slightly ajar.

Her heart stopped.

She hadn't opened them.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

She turned fast, adrenaline spiking-only to find Lovia in her nightgown, holding a stuffed unicorn.

"Mommy?"

Geraldine exhaled shakily and knelt. "Baby, what are you doing up?"

"I heard someone in the garden."

Geraldine stood instantly, walking her daughter back to bed with one arm wrapped tight around her. She pressed the panic button in the hall before she even reached the girls' room.

Ten minutes later, three armed guards were sweeping the grounds.

Nothing was found.

But Geraldine knew what this was.

A warning.

She tucked the girls into bed and stood at the doorway long after they were asleep, staring at their peaceful faces.

If Bekett wanted war, she would give him hell.