Chapter 3 - THE FALLOUT
The Glass House rooftop was a scene of chaos as I made my exit.
Reporters were swarming Nathaniel,
their questions like arrows.
“Is it true you used inferior materials?”
“Where did the offshore money go?”
“Did your mistress help you embezzle the funds?”
Sienna was crying,
the stolen dress stained with a spilled drink.
She looked smaller than she had an hour ago,
the diamonds at her neck looking like cheap glass.
I reached the elevator,
Daniel right behind me.
“You did it,”
he whispered,
his voice full of pride.
“We did it,”
I corrected,
my hand shaking slightly as the adrenaline began to fade.
The doors closed,
muffling the sounds of the dying party.
As we descended,
I felt a strange sense of emptiness.
I had destroyed my husband,
but I had also destroyed the life I had known for a decade.
“What now?”
Daniel asked as we reached the lobby.
“Now,”
I said,
stepping out into the cool night air,
“we prepare for the trial.”
The news was already breaking on social media,
videos of my speech going viral.
The "Mistress in the Stolen Dress" was the headline of the hour.
I didn't look at my phone,
I didn't need to.
I knew the world was watching,
and I knew Nathaniel had no place left to hide.
I drove to my apartment,
a place Nathaniel didn't know about.
It was a sanctuary of white walls and quiet corners.
I stripped off my own clothes and stood under a hot shower,
washing away the scent of the gala.
I thought about the red dress,
the way it had looked on Sienna.
It was a beautiful thing,
ruined by her greed and his arrogance.
I lay in bed,
staring at the ceiling,
listening to the city.
Nathaniel would be at his lawyer’s office by now,
trying to find a way out of the trap I had set.
He would find that every door was locked,
every bridge burned.
I had spent months mapping his crimes,
documenting every penny he had moved.
The "more dangerous thing" Sienna had taken was indeed the drive,
but the true danger was the woman who had filled it.
I closed my eyes,
drifting into a sleep that was deeper than any I had had in years.
Tomorrow,
May you like
the real work would begin,
and the Whitmore name would finally belong to me alone.
