Burning Away the Griffin Thorns

Twenty days left.

Killian started leaving before dawn and returning long after dusk.

The alliance consolidation he'd once promised had evaporated into thin air.

Sometimes, through intelligence from my friend Genevieve, I would see him in the background of a surveillance photo, standing beside a woman.

I had already seen that face in the blueprints on his hard drive.

That day, my best friend, the top-tier art forger Genevieve Hayes, stopped me.

"Bring your appraisal tools later. We're going to a business meeting. Word is the buyer comes from his old flame's crew."

I nodded, my mind elsewhere.

Though she was my best friend, no one knew our marriage was on ice, much less that our alliance was about to be dissolved.

The meeting was at a pier adjacent to a company owned by Killian.

I knew this was new territory Scarlett had seized since her return, backed by Griffin family funds.

Lately, the underground intelligence networks were flooded with stories hyping up their past romance.

When we walked into the warehouse on the pier, I saw Killian, just as I'd expected.

He was handing a freshly printed deed to a woman perched on a shipping container.

Scarlett.

The moment Killian saw me, his expression froze.

The air in the warehouse crackled with tension.

Scarlett looked at me with a playful glint in her eyes and asked, "And who might this be?"

Killian fell silent, visibly weighing his words.

"I'm Alessia Thorne," I said, my voice steady. "The appraiser for this deal. Mr. Griffin and I..."

Killian and I spoke at the same time.

"We know each other."

As the words fell, my fingers tightened around my appraisal tools until my knuckles turned white.

My fingertips pressed deep crescents into the cold metal.

This wasn't the first time I had covered for Killian, nor was it the first time he was unwilling to publicly acknowledge my identity.

Our strategic marriage had been a convenient lie for us both, but it sealed the truth: we had no future.

The subsequent negotiations over territory did not go smoothly.

Killian had reverted to the ruthless Don of the Griffin family, representing Scarlett and pushing relentlessly in the talks.

"Give up another ten percent of the profits."

He pushed my family's bottom line to the absolute limit.

Genevieve hesitated, then bit her lip and agreed. "Fine. You've earned your reputation, Mr. Griffin. You read our bottom line like an open book."

The man lowered his eyes, not daring to look at me.

He was just as ruthless as the rumors claimed.

Only now, that ruthlessness was aimed at me, his wife in name only.

Scarlett said nothing the entire time. She just smiled languidly, a smile that held no warmth.

There was a hint of provocation in that smile, but more of it was triumph.

She had won, utterly and completely. She had every right to her pride.

Scarlett reached for a bottle of whiskey on the table.

"Let's all have a drink."

Unexpectedly, Killian, who had been so calm during the negotiation, rushed over and pressed her hand down.

"Don't touch that. You don't like this vintage. I'll have someone replace it."

In that instant, the sight felt like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

In five years of marriage, this man had forgotten our anniversaries and mistaken my preferences. Everything I reminded him of was carelessly tossed aside.

And yet, he had always remembered that a painful memory made me loathe this particular brand of whiskey. I’d once secretly cherished that.

Perhaps all the other details proved he didn't love me, but this one thing proved I was special to him, even just a little.

But it turned out that even that small claim to being special was a lie.

The project progressed quickly.

But Killian felt the project was moving too slowly, reminding his subordinate, Harlan, more than once to speed things up.