Chapter 3 - THE GASLIGHTING
The front door of the estate slammed open at 2:00 AM.
I didn't flinch,
I remained in the high-backed chair in the library.
Daniel marched in,
his tuxedo jacket discarded,
his tie hanging loose like a noose.
"What the hell was that, Maya?"
he roared,
his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
"You humiliated Celeste!"
"She's pregnant,
for god's sake!"
"She was under a lot of stress,
and you treated her like a common thief!"
I didn't speak,
I just watched him,
observing the way his face contorted in anger.
He was trying to flip the narrative,
trying to make me the villain in my own home.
"She used my paddle, Daniel,"
I said quietly,
my voice a stark contrast to his shouting.
"She tried to buy my mother's diamonds with my money."
"In a room full of our peers."
"Who exactly was humiliating whom?"
He paced the room,
his hands shaking.
"I told her she could use it!
I'm your husband,
it’s our money!"
"No,"
I corrected him.
"It is the Bennett Trust's money."
"And you are merely a guest at the table."
He stopped pacing and looked at me,
his eyes narrowing.
"Don't do this, Maya."
"Don't get high and mighty with me."
"I've worked at that firm for five years."
"I've made you millions."
"You've managed my mother's legacy, Daniel,"
I said,
standing up.
"And you've done it while siphoning funds to a woman who thinks she's my equal."
The color drained from his face.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The condo on West 4th,"
I listed,
walking toward him.
"The designer bags."
"The private clinic visits."
"I have the forensic accounting reports, Daniel."
He tried to grab my shoulders,
his voice softening into that manipulative purr he used when he wanted something.
"Maya, baby,
it was a mistake."
"I was lonely,
you were always busy with the foundation..."
"Stop,"
I said,
stepping out of his reach.
"Don't insult my intelligence along with my marriage."
"The Star of the North is back in my possession."
"And by tomorrow morning,
your access to the firm's accounts will be revoked."
He laughed,
a hollow,
bitter sound.
"You can't do that.
I'm the Managing Director."
"Not according to the morality clause,
you aren't,"
I said,
holding up the red envelope.
The fear I saw at the gala returned,
ten times stronger.
"You wouldn't,"
he whispered.
"I already did,"
May you like
I replied.
"Get out of my mother's house."
