He Watched Me Burn — Now I'm Back to Light His

"Are you sure about the timestamp?" I asked, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Three o'clock sharp," Julian replied, his voice rough through the speaker. "I sent the image to your secure folder. Open it."

I tapped the screen. The encrypted file loaded. A black terminal window displayed a string of code, highlighting a single user ID. V_Vega_Admin.

"Vivienne," I murmured.

"She pulled the exact same offshore logs you wanted," Julian said. "Does your mother-in-law usually audit the shell companies?"

"Never." I stared at the green text. "She pretends the business runs on magic. She despises the operational side. She doesn't touch the books."

"Someone told her where to look," Julian pointed out. "Or she's looking for something specific. The cash flow over the last six months shows a lot of movement. Small, untraceable deposits."

"Building a nest egg for the new girl," I said.

The puzzle pieces from dinner snapped together. Vivienne's dramatic outrage. Marcus's perfectly timed disgust. The unlocked front gates. They didn't just tolerate Camille. Vivienne was actively managing her.

"She knows about the girl," I said, my voice dropping. "Vivienne set up the confrontation tonight to push me out."

"You think the mother-in-law brought her to the house?"

"Vivienne controls the estate security. No one gets through the front gates without her direct approval. She wanted Camille to sit in Adrian's chair. She wanted me to react, to scream, to throw a fit in front of Marcus."

"So they could justify cutting you off," Julian finished.

"Exactly. They need me to be the unstable, jealous wife."

"Do you want me to dig into Vivienne's communications?" Julian asked.

"Yes. Find out how often she speaks to Camille. Check the financial records for any direct transfers from Vivienne's personal accounts to Camille's."

"I'll need another day to bypass the personal banking firewalls."

"Take the time. Just don't trigger any alarms."

"Consider it done."

I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed.

The next morning, my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Adrian's message appeared on the screen. Meet me at 4200 Oakwood Drive. Noon.

I drove to the address. It was a secluded property tucked behind a row of tall pine trees. A modern, glass-fronted house sat at the end of a long gravel driveway.

Adrian stood on the porch, checking his watch. He wore a gray suit, his posture relaxed.

"You're late," he noted as I approached the steps.

"Traffic," I lied. "What is this place, Adrian?"

"An investment," he said, pushing the heavy oak door open. "And a solution."

"A solution to what?"

"Our arrangement." He gestured for me to step inside. "After the disaster at dinner, it's clear the current setup isn't working. My parents are agitated. You're unhappy. I bought this property for you."

I crossed the threshold. The air inside smelled of fresh paint. The foyer stretched into a massive open-concept living space, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.

"You bought me a house," I stated, scanning the empty room.

"An estate," he corrected. "Fully furnished. Private. You can decorate it however you want. You won't have to deal with my mother, and I won't have to worry about you clashing with my guests."

"Guests," I echoed. "You mean Camille."

"I mean anyone I choose to invite to my primary residence," he shot back, his tone hardening. "You took the two million, Sloane. This is the next step."

"Moving me out of sight."

"Giving you your own space," he argued. He walked toward the kitchen, running a hand along the quartz countertop. "You should be thanking me. You get a quiet life, fully funded, without the obligations of playing my wife."

"So I stay here, and Camille takes my place at the estate."

Adrian turned around, leaning against the counter. "Camille is temporary. She's young. She's fun. She doesn't demand anything from me."

"Unlike me."

"You demand my guilt," he said, his voice dropping. "Every time I look at you, you expect me to apologize for the past. I'm tired of apologizing, Sloane. I built an empire. I deserve to enjoy it without a shadow standing over my shoulder."

"I saved your life," I reminded him. "I stood between you and three men who wanted to break your legs."

"And I paid you for it!" he shouted, his composure slipping. "Two million dollars. A blank check for the rest of your life. What more do you want?"

"I want you to admit what you're doing," I said, walking closer to him. "You aren't just hiding me. You're replacing me."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Don't be dramatic. This is a business transaction. You live here. I live there. We stay married on paper to keep the board happy."

I took another step into the living room, heading toward the hallway.

The leather strap on my wrist grew warm. The metal back of my mother's pocket watch pressed into my skin, the temperature rising fast.

Tick.

A sharp sting radiated up my forearm. The internal gears roared in my ears, echoing like grinding machinery.

The freshly painted walls blurred. The afternoon sunlight filtering through the large windows turned a sickening, hazy orange.

I stood in this exact hallway, but the smell of paint vanished, replaced by the suffocating stench of gasoline.

The heavy oak door to the master suite stood in front of me.

In the vision, I slammed my fists against the wood. My knuckles bled.

"Adrian!" I screamed in the memory, my throat raw. "Open the door!"

His voice came from the other side, muffled but perfectly calm. "Stay put, Sloane. Don't make a scene. Just wait until the celebration ends, and I'll come get you."

"There's smoke!" I choked out, coughing as a gray cloud seeped under the door frame. "Adrian, please!"

"You always overreact," he said through the wood. "It's just a small fire in the kitchen. The staff is handling it. Stay in the room."

Footsteps retreated down the hall. He walked away.

The smoke thickened, burning my eyes, filling my lungs.

The vision collapsed.

I gasped, stumbling forward. My shoulder hit the wall. The orange haze vanished, leaving only the pristine, sunlit hallway.

The pocket watch cooled against my pulse.

"Are you listening to me?" Adrian asked, his voice cutting through the ringing in my ears.

I forced my breathing to steady. I pushed off the wall and turned to face him.

"I'm listening," I said, keeping my tone entirely flat.

He walked over, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a silver key ring. He stepped closer and dropped the metal into my open palm. His fingers brushed mine, cold and firm.

"This will be your home from now on," he said, offering a practiced smile. "You'll be safe here. Far away from the drama."

I stared at the jagged edges of the keys.

"Safe," I repeated.

"Exactly." He checked his phone, the screen lighting up his face. "I have a board meeting in thirty minutes. Have a look around. The movers will bring your things tomorrow."

He didn't wait for my response. He walked past me, heading straight for the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

"Adrian," I called out.

He didn't stop. He stepped into the room, grabbed the brass handle, and pulled the heavy oak door shut.

The deadbolt clicked into place from the inside.