My future sister-in-law secretly slipped a note into my hand the first night I met my fiancé’s wealthy family: “Come back at 10. Don’t tell anyone.” When I returned and saw her covered in bruises, kneeling before my fiancé and his mother, I finally learned why they were so desperate for me to marry him.

At two o'clock sharply, Gavin arrived at my agency's executive suites in downtown Atlanta. He looked striking in a tailored navy suit, carrying a bouquet of white peonies—my favorite flowers.

“For the future CEO’s wife,” he said smoothly, stepping into my corner office and kissing me deeply on the lips.

I forced myself not to recoil, wrapping my arms around his neck and leaning into his chest. I could smell his expensive cologne, the subtle scent of sandalwood and citrus that used to make me feel safe. Now, it smelled like a trap.

“You shouldn't have,” I smiled, setting the flowers in a glass vase on my desk. “I’ve already alerted my chief financial officer that you’ll be looking over our books. He prepared a dedicated drive for you.”

Gavin’s eyes lit up with a flash of triumph that he tried—and failed—to completely mask. “That’s fantastic, Alyssa. You’re making this transition so seamless.”

For the next three hours, Gavin sat in my conference room, completely absorbed in the dummy financial files Marcus and Elena had prepared over the course of six frantic hours. The files showed a thriving advertising network with twenty-two million dollars in liquid cash reserves—funds that appeared readily accessible upon the signature of a joint corporate management agreement.

What Gavin didn't know was that every file on that encrypted drive contained tracking software that logged every document he copied, every search query he executed, and every external drive he plugged into my corporate network.

While Gavin was buried in my fake numbers, I left my office under the pretense of a client meeting and drove straight back to Buckhead.

I knew that on Thursday afternoons, Naomi Vance attended her charity committee meetings at the Piedmont Driving Club, and Damian took his golf lessons at the country club. The house would be practically empty, guarded only by the estate’s groundskeeper and housekeeper.

I parked two streets away, wrapped a silk scarf around my hair, and walked to the estate’s side gate, carrying a large gift box filled with high-end skincare products—a fake peace offering for my future mother-in-law.

The gate was unlocked, just as it had been the night before. I walked up the stone path to the kitchen entrance and knocked softly on the heavy glass door.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Brianna stood in the frame, wearing the same faded sweater, her face pale and exhausted. When she saw me, her eyes widened in sheer horror.

“Alyssa?” she gasped, trying to slam the door shut. “What are you doing here? You can't be here! If Naomi finds out—”

I shoved my foot into the door frame, pushing my way into the quiet, pristine kitchen before she could lock me out.

“Naomi is at the driving club until four, and Damian is at the golf course,” I said quickly, catching Brianna by her arms. “I checked their schedules, Brianna. We are alone.”

Brianna trembled beneath my grip, her skin ice-cold. “You don't understand how dangerous they are, Alyssa. You received my note—you saw what they did to me! Why didn't you run?”

“Because running won't save you,” I said fiercely, looking into her hollow eyes. “And running won't stop them from doing this to another woman once they drain me dry. I know about Sterling Logistics, Brianna. I know what Damian did to your family's company.”

Brianna’s knees gave out, and she sobbed softly, sinking onto the cold tile floor. I dropped to my knees beside her, wrapping my arms around her frail shoulders, ignoring the dust and the chill of the floor.

“They took everything,” she wept, covering her face with her bruised hands. “My money, my self-respect, my family’s legacy. Damian threatened to have my father’s medical care revoked if I ever tried to leave or go to the police. They have judges in their pockets, Alyssa. They have lawyers who specialize in erasing people like us.”

“Not this time,” I whispered into her hair. “I have Elena Rostova. I have forensic accountants. And I have a plan to destroy them financially, legally, and publicly. But I need your help, Brianna.”

Brianna pulled back, looking at me with a mix of fear and desperate hope. “What could I possibly do?”

“I need access to Richard Vance’s private safe in his study,” I said. “The safe where he keeps the real offshore bank statements for Vance Global and the original agreements Damian forced you to sign.”

Brianna shook her head frantically. “It’s impossible. The safe is behind the painting in Richard’s library. It has a biometric lock and a six-digit code.”

“Do you know the code?”

Brianna swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. “I don't know the code... but I know where Damian keeps his personal backup drive. He leaves it in his leather briefcase inside his nightstand. He updates it every Sunday night.”

I squeezed her hands tightly. “Can you copy that drive onto a USB stick for me?”

Brianna looked toward the kitchen door, as if expecting Damian to burst through at any second. Her whole body shook, but then she looked down at the dark purple bruises on her wrists, her jaw slowly tightening with a newfound spark of defiance.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered. “I’ll get you the drive. But you have to promise me one thing, Alyssa.”