His mother began crying. His investors walked away. Elena’s fiancé removed his ring and placed it on the champagne table.
Daniel looked at me with hatred, then fear.
“You ruined me,” he whispered.
“No,” I said. “I returned what belonged to you.”
I glanced at the red lingerie.
“Your shame.”
Six months later, I woke in my new apartment overlooking the river, sunlight spilling across hardwood floors I had paid for myself.
Daniel’s company had collapsed under fraud charges. His accounts were frozen. Carlo Moretti was under investigation, Elena had become a headline instead of a bride, and Daniel was living in a rented room, calling lawyers who no longer answered.
As for me, I opened my own forensic consulting firm.
My first client was Elena’s former fiancé.
He wanted every Moretti account examined.
I took one sip of coffee, smiled at the morning, and accepted.
Because betrayal had taken my marriage.
But it had returned my name.
