Craving for My Tyrant Husband

The next morning, Everleigh was sitting at Illa's kitchen island, nursing a coffee, when her phone vibrated again.

It wasn't a text this time. It was a notification.

Invitation to download: Enigma.

"What is that?" Illa asked, leaning over Evie's shoulder, a piece of toast hanging from her mouth.

"I don't know. An app invite."

Illa squinted,"Enigma? That's military-grade encryption. The server is in a bunker in Switzerland or something. My brother uses it. All the paranoid Wall Street guys do."

A text from Gus popped up on Evie's regular message app.

Standard texts aren't safe. Download this.

Evie frowned. "He's paranoid."

"He's rich," Illa corrected. "Download it."

Evie did. The interface was stark black and white.

No profile pictures. Just one contact listed: Gus.

I had your number changed, the first message read. To stop your ex from calling. The new SIM card is with the doorman.

Evie bristled. "He changed my number? Without asking?"

"Control freak," Illa muttered, chewing her toast. "Definitely rich."

Evie typed back. You have no right to control my life.

I have every right, came the reply. I'm your husband. And I hold grudges against men who make my wife cry.

Evie stared at the word wife. It looked alien on the screen.

Ten minutes later, the doorman delivered a small package. Inside was a brand new, top-of-the-line smartphone and a SIM card.

Evie swapped the cards. The silence was immediate. No more barrage of hate-texts from Darrin. It felt... lighter.

The Enigma app pinged.

To apologize for the unilateral decision, and to show sincerity, you need a ring.

Evie rolled her eyes. We are getting divorced. I don't need a ring.

As long as we are legally married, you wear my ring, he wrote. It's a matter of principle for me.

"A matter of principle?" Illa scoffed, reading over Evie's shoulder. "Okay, that's weirdly formal. Maybe he's a distant cousin? Like, a third cousin twice removed who owns a car dealership in Jersey?"

You're bossy, Evie typed.

A moment later, an audio file appeared in the chat.

She pressed play.

"Be good, Evie."

The voice was low, rough,It was the voice from the hotel room.

Evie's face went nuclear red.

Illa grabbed the phone. "Play it again."

She listened, her eyes widening. "Okay. That voice? That is the voice of a man who has never flown economy. That is a private jet voice."

She handed the phone back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's test him."

"Test him?"

"If he wants to buy you a ring, let him. We'll see if he's a Jersey car dealer or... something else." Illa grabbed Evie's phone and typed. Fine. But I want to pick it out.

Go ahead, Gus replied instantly. Send me the link.

Illa opened the browser on her iPad and went straight to Harry Winston.

"Illa, no!" Evie tried to grab the tablet. "That's insane."

"Hush," Illa swatted her hand away. "If he's a fake, he'll ghost you the second he sees the price. If he's real... well, you get a ring."

She didn't go to the engagement ring section. She went to High Jewelry. The stuff that didn't have prices listed, just "Price upon request."

"This is too much," Evie said, feeling dizzy as Illa scrolled past diamonds the size of grapes.

"It's a stress test," Illa insisted.

Next door, in a soundproofed study, Agustus Williams sat at the head of a mahogany table. Twelve men in suits were arguing about a merger.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He held up a hand. The room went instantly silent.

"Five minute recess," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He opened the app. He looked at the link Illa had sent. It was a generic page. He knew exactly what she was doing. Illa. His annoying, meddling little sister.

He opened his gallery and selected a photo he'd taken at a private viewing in Sotheby's last week.

Back in Illa's apartment, Evie's phone pinged.

An image loaded. It wasn't a link. It was a photo of a rough, uncut stone. It glowed with an inner, vibrant pink fire.

Do you like this one? the caption read. Or do you prefer it cut?

Illa gasped. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated shock. She dropped the toast.

"That..." She pointed a trembling finger at the screen. "That is a raw pink diamond. Evie, that's not from a website. That's from an auction catalog. A private one."

"Is it expensive?" Evie asked, feeling like a child.

Illa looked at her, her face deadly serious. "That stone? It could buy this entire building. Twice."