Chapter 4
I woke up at 8:57 a.m.
Three minutes before the $120 million was supposed to transfer.
I sat up on the couch, my neck stiff, my head throbbing.
For a split second, I forgot everything.
Then I touched my bald head under the silk scarf I’d tied on, and it all came crashing back.
The note.
The toast.
Jackson’s cruel words.
The empty safe.
I checked my phone.
One email from my financial adviser.
“Transfer successfully canceled. All funds secured in your primary account. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief.
At least the money was safe.
Judith was in the kitchen making coffee when I walked in.
She’d already called a locksmith to change all the locks and a security company to upgrade the cameras.
“Good morning,” she said, soft.
I nodded.
I poured a cup of black coffee.
My hands were still a little shaky.
At 9:12, the doorbell rang.
I looked at the security monitor by the front door.
Jackson and Natalie were standing on my porch.
Natalie was wearing a tight black dress, oversized designer sunglasses, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
She looked like she was ready for a business meeting, not a conversation about the wedding she’d destroyed.
Jackson stood behind her, his eyes red, his tuxedo wrinkled, like he’d slept in it.
He wouldn’t look at the camera.
My chest tightened.
“Should I call the police?” Judith asked.
I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “Let them in. I want to hear what she has to say.”
I unlocked the door.
Natalie pushed past me without a word, like she owned the place.
Jackson followed, his head down.
She walked into the living room and dropped her designer bag on the couch.
She took off her sunglasses.
Her eyes were puffy, but there was no sadness in them.
Only cold, hard fury.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Where is what?”
“You know exactly what,” she snapped. “My $120 million. It was supposed to be in our account twenty minutes ago. I want you to call your banker right now and release it. Then we can all pretend this stupid little stunt of yours never happened.”
I stared at her.
I almost laughed.
She really thought she could break into my house, humiliate me, steal my things, scream at my guests, and still walk away with eight figures.
“You’re kidding, right?” I said.
Her face hardened.
“Listen to me, you old bat,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low and dangerous. “That money was promised to us. It’s in Frank’s will. I have a copy. If you don’t transfer it today, I’ll sue you for breach of contract. I’ll take every penny you have. I’ll drag your name through the mud so bad no one will ever speak to you again. And I’ll make sure Jackson never sees you again for the rest of your life.”
I looked past her at Jackson.
“Is this what you want?” I asked him.
He still wouldn’t look at me.
He shrugged.
“Natalie’s right,” he mumbled. “Dad wanted me to have it. You can’t just change your mind because you’re mad at her.”
I felt my heart crack a little more.
“Come with me,” I said.
I turned and walked down the hall to the living room where I’d set up the big TV the night before.
I’d already queued up the security footage.
I grabbed the remote.
“Watch this,” I said.
I pressed play.
The screen lit up.
Time stamp: 2:17 a.m.
Natalie’s car pulled up the driveway.
She got out, carrying a black duffel bag.
She walked to the front door, punched in the security code—Jackson’s birthday, the code he’d used since he was 16—and walked right in.
The camera followed her through the house.
She went straight to my bedroom.
She pulled an electric razor out of her bag.
She leaned over my bed.
I watched myself sleep, peaceful, unaware.
She turned the razor on.
And she shaved my head, slow, deliberate, a cold smile on her face the whole time.
I heard Judith gasp beside me.
Jackson’s head snapped up.
His eyes went wide.
The footage kept rolling.
Natalie walked to my closet.
She pulled out my pale-blue dress.
She grabbed a pair of scissors from her bag.
She cut it into tiny strips, laughing to herself, tossing the pieces on the floor.
Then she took my jewelry box off the dresser and slipped it into her duffel.
She walked down the hall to Frank’s study.
She pried the safe open with a crowbar she’d brought with her.
She stuffed the watch, the medal, the letters into her bag.
Then she pulled the photo of her and Jackson out of her pocket and set it inside the empty safe.
She turned to the camera.
She blew a kiss.
Then she walked out the front door at 4:02 a.m.
I pressed pause.
The room was dead silent.
Jackson was staring at the screen, his face as white as a sheet.
He looked like he was going to be sick.
Natalie didn’t even flinch.
She rolled her eyes.
“Fake,” she said, dismissive. “You edited it. Anyone can do that with an app these days.”
Then the kitchen door opened.
Maria, my housekeeper of twenty years, walked in holding a grocery bag.
She’d come in through the back.
She stopped when she saw Natalie.
Her face hardened.
“I saw you,” Maria said, quiet but firm. “I got here early yesterday. I saw you leave at four in the morning with that big black bag. I thought you were helping Mrs. Hale with wedding things. I should have known. You always had a mean look in your eye.”
Natalie snapped.
Every last bit of her mask shattered.
She spun around, her face twisted with rage.
“Shut up, you stupid immigrant!” she screamed at Maria. “No one asked you! You’re just the maid! You don’t get to speak to me!”
Then she turned on me.
All the charm, all the sweetness, all the lies were gone.
The real Natalie stood there, ugly and vicious and bare.
“You want the truth?” she spat. “You want to know what I really think of you? You’re a sad, lonely old woman who never deserved Frank. He was too good for you. He built that empire, and you just sat around spending his money and crying about him. You smothered Jackson his whole life. You turned him into a weak little mama’s boy who can’t even tie his own shoes without asking your permission. I was doing him a favor. I was gonna take him away from here, give him a real life. And that money? It was never yours. It was always his. And I was gonna make sure he used it for something better than letting you rot in this big empty house.”
She took a step toward me, her fists clenched.
“You think you won? You think canceling the transfer fixes anything? I’ll get that money. One way or another. I’ll take Jackson for half in the divorce. I’ll sue you for defamation. I’ll tell every reporter in the country that you abused me for months, that you threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave your son alone. People love a victim. They’ll believe me. An old rich widow against a poor young bride? I’ll win. And when I’m done, you’ll have nothing. No money. No son. No legacy. Just your stupid bald head and an empty house.”
Jackson made a small, broken sound.
He finally looked at her.
Truly looked at her.
And I saw the exact moment the illusion broke.
The woman he’d loved wasn’t real.
She’d never been real.
She was a monster wearing a beautiful face.
“You used me,” he whispered.
Natalie laughed, sharp and cold.
“Duh,” she said. “What, you thought I married you for your personality? You’re boring. You cry about your dead dad every five minutes. You let your mom walk all over you. The only thing you had going for you was that $120 million. And now you don’t even have that. You’re worthless to me now.”
Jackson flinched like she’d slapped him.
He turned and walked out of the house without a word.
He didn’t look back.
Natalie stared at the door for a second, then shrugged.
She picked up her bag.
“This isn’t over,” she said to me.
She walked out.
I heard her car peel out of the driveway.
I sank down onto the couch.
Judith sat beside me.
Maria made us all tea.
I stared at the paused footage on the screen.
Jackson knew the truth now.
But knowing didn’t mean he’d come back.
And Natalie was right about one thing.
May you like
She was going to make this as ugly as possible.
The war was only just beginning.
