Chapter 3 - The Web of Deceit
The heavy front door of the penthouse unlocked at 12:15 PM with a polite electronic chime.
Julian walked in, carrying a leather briefcase in one hand and a dozen long-stemmed white roses in the other. He looked impeccably handsome—dark hair neatly styled, wearing an Italian wool suit, his smile warm and bright.
"Victoria, darling?" Julian called out, tossing his keys onto the marble console table. "I wrapped up the board meeting early! I brought your favorite roses, and I thought I’d take care of Leo’s afternoon feed so you could go to the spa—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Victoria was sitting in a high-backed armchair near the floor-to-ceiling windows. She had changed into a tailored white pantsuit. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, elegant bun. Her face was completely devoid of emotion.
Across the living room, Maria was standing near the kitchen island, quietly wiping down the counters.
Julian’s eyes flicked to Maria’s left cheek, where the red mark from Victoria’s slap was still visibly swollen. A subtle, fleeting flash of satisfaction crossed his face before he smoothed his expression back into concerned affection.
"Darling, what’s wrong?" Julian asked, setting the roses down on the table and walking toward Victoria. "Did something happen? Why does Maria look like she’s been crying?"
"Maria had an accident in the kitchen, Julian," Victoria said, her voice flat, cool, and perfectly steady.
Julian paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "An accident?"
"She dropped Leo’s formula bottle," Victoria said, watching his eyes with the intensity of a hawk watching prey. "Spilled the entire fresh batch right down the drain. I lost my temper. I slapped her."
A micro-expression of intense, suppressed irritation flicked across Julian’s jaw. He masked it instantly, walking over and placing a soothing hand on Victoria’s shoulder.
"Oh, sweetie, you shouldn't stress yourself out over a spilled bottle," Julian murmured smoothly, his fingers massaging her neck. "Maria is young. She makes mistakes. I’ll just go into the kitchen and mix a fresh batch for our little prince myself, okay? Why don't you go lie down?"
Victoria felt a cold shiver run down her spine as his hand touched her neck. It took every ounce of her self-control not to scream, grab a silver letter opener from the side table, and plunge it into his throat.
"That’s very sweet of you, Julian," Victoria said softly, looking up into his brown eyes—the eyes she had once thought held endless love. "By the way, how was the board meeting with my father’s lawyers today?"
Julian’s hand stilled slightly on her shoulder.
"It went fine," he said, stepping back and pulling his hands into his pockets. "Just routine paperwork regarding the trust fund consolidation."
"Right. The trust fund," Victoria repeated smoothly. "The thirty-million-dollar inheritance my father set up for Leo, which automatically transfers to the surviving parent if Leo passes away before his first birthday."
The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Julian stared at her. The charming, loving husband mask slipped just an inch, revealing a cold, calculating void underneath.
"Why would you bring up something like that, Victoria?" Julian asked, his voice losing its warmth. "That’s a morbid thought."
"Is it?" Victoria asked, standing up from her chair. She stepped toward him, her high heels clicking loudly against the floor. "I was just thinking about how convenient that clause is, Julian. Sterling Financial Holdings lost eighty million dollars in overseas investments last month, didn't it? Your CFO was talking about filing for bankruptcy next Tuesday unless you found a major cash injection."
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted toward the hallway, then back to Victoria.
"Who told you that?" he demanded, his tone turning sharp and defensive. "Have you been going through my private financial files?"
"I didn't have to," Victoria said. "My father’s private investigators are very thorough, Julian. They’ve been looking into your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands since yesterday."
Julian took a slow step back, his hand instinctively reaching toward his inner jacket pocket where his phone was kept. "Victoria, you’re exhausted. Postpartum anxiety is making you paranoid. You aren't thinking clearly—"
"Maria," Victoria called out quietly.
May you like
Maria stepped out from the kitchen, holding a large manila envelope. Inside was a printed copy of the chemical analysis report from the private lab Victoria had rushed a sample of the formula to an hour ago, along with a flash drive containing the high-definition video of Julian tampering with the milk.
"I am thinking clearer than I ever have in my life, Julian," Victoria said, staring into his eyes. "And you are never going to touch my son again."
