Chapter 6
Victoria didn’t look like a woman who had just caught her husband searching for his long-lost children. She looked like a predator who had tracked her prey across the country and was thoroughly enjoying the hunt.
She pulled off her leather gloves finger by finger, walking down the center aisle with slow, deliberate steps.
“Quaint,” Victoria murmured, dragging a manicured fingernail along a shelf of classic poetry. “Very rustic. Very… provincial. Daniel always had an embarrassing weakness for the bohemian aesthetic.”
“Get out of my store, Victoria,” I said, standing tall behind the counter, my fingers digging into the edge of the wood until my joints ached.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she replied, stopping right where Daniel had stood twenty-four hours earlier. She placed a pristine Hermès handbag onto the counter between us. “We’re practically family, aren’t we? Considering you’re harboring Ashford heirs in a Seattle backwater.”
My heart stopped.
She knew.
“Daniel told you?” I managed to ask, trying desperately to keep the panic from showing on my face.
Victoria let out a soft, musical laugh that made my skin crawl. “Daniel? Daniel hasn't told me the truth about anything since the day we exchanged vows. No, darling. Daniel spent last night wandering around the hotel lobby like a kicked dog, clutching a whiskey glass and staring at photos on his phone. He thinks he’s so noble, protecting your little secret.”
She leaned in slightly, the scent of expensive French tuberose filling the space between us.
“Daniel’s personal security reports to *Charles*,” Victoria whispered. “And Charles reports to me when it concerns our merger. The moment Daniel ran out of that coffee shop yesterday, Charles had photographs of you and those two little bastards on his tablet before dinner was served.”
The word *bastards* hit me like a slap.
“Watch your mouth,” I hissed.
“Or what, Claire? You’ll hit me with a paperback novel?” Victoria’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating mask of pure malice. “Let’s dispense with the melodrama. I’m here to offer you a reality check. You think Daniel is going to rescue you? You think this is some tragic romance where he leaves his billionaire wife to play house with his former bookstore clerk?”
“I don’t want Daniel,” I said firmly. “I haven't wanted him since the night he sold himself to you.”
“Good. Because you can’t have him,” Victoria said smoothly. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a certified cashier’s check.
She slid it across the mahogany counter.
I looked down.
Five million dollars. Made out to Claire Vance.
“Five million,” Victoria said, tapping the paper with her French-tipped nail. “Tax-free. Charles authorized three, but I had him add two more just to ensure you don’t get sentimental. You take the money. You take those two little girls. And you board a flight to Europe, Australia, or anywhere that doesn't share a timezone with New York.”
“And if I refuse?”
Victoria’s blue eyes—so different from Daniel’s, devoid of any warmth or conscience—narrowed into slits.
“If you refuse, Charles files an emergency custody petition in federal court on Monday morning,” she said evenly. “He will claim you deliberately concealed Ashford descendants in impoverished conditions. He will hire five different firms to dig into every utility bill, every medical record, every glass of wine you’ve had in the last two years. He will paint you as an unstable, unfit mother who extorted his son.”
She took a step closer, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper.
“You won’t have five million dollars, Claire. You won’t even have your daughters. Charles will take them, raise them in boarding schools in Switzerland, and you will spend the rest of your miserable life looking at them through court-ordered supervised visitation glass.”
The room spun around me. The horror of her words settled into my bones like lead. I knew Charles Ashford. I knew the monstrous reach of his wealth. He had bought state senators and Supreme Court judges; destroying a single mother in Seattle wouldn’t cost him a fraction of his weekly portfolio dividends.
“You’re sick,” I whispered.
“I’m pragmatic,” Victoria countered. “This marriage isn’t about love, Claire. It’s an eight-billion-dollar corporate union between Hale Maritime and Ashford Global. My father and Charles have spent twenty years consolidating this empire. I will not let two toddlers from a one-night fling derail my seat on the board.”
“They weren’t a fling!” I snapped. “Daniel loved me!”
“And he chose me,” Victoria shot back without missing a beat. “Now pick up the check.”
I looked at the piece of paper. Five million dollars. A fortune. Financial freedom forever.
Then I reached out.
I picked up the cashier's check.
Victoria’s lips curved into a triumphant, smug grin. “Wise girl.”
I looked her dead in the eye, took the check in both hands, and tore it in half.
Then into quarters.
Then into tiny, confetti-sized shreds.
I threw the pieces directly into Victoria’s face.
The paper fluttered over her immaculate coat and expensive hair. Victoria recoiled in shock, a gasp catching in her throat.
“Get out of my store,” I said, every ounce of fear transforming into pure, unadulterated mother’s rage. “And tell Charles Ashford that if he wants my daughters, he better bring an army. Because I will fight him on the steps of the courthouse, on the front page of the New York Times, and on live television. Now get the hell out before I call the press myself.”
Victoria stood frozen, trembling with rage. She brushed the scraps of paper off her shoulder, her face turning crimson beneath her foundation.
“You just signed your own death warrant, Claire,” Victoria whispered, her voice shaking with venom.
She spun on her heels and marched out of the store, the bell ringing violently behind her.
I stood there, alone in the silence, breathing heavily.
Then my phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was an unknown Seattle number.
I answered it with shaking fingers. “Hello?”
May you like
“Claire,” Daniel’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Don’t say anything. Just listen to me. Charles knows. He hired a private security team to tail you. Pack your bags and get the girls out of your apartment right now. They’re coming.”
***
