Stealing The Groom For Sweet Revenge

The bass from the ground floor of The Abyss vibrated through the floorboards.

Elizabeth pushed open the heavy soundproof door of the VIP room on the second floor. The Abyss was one of her team's most secure front operations, a place where the cameras were scrubbed hourly and the staff were strictly on her payroll. It was supposed to be a fortress.

Daryl Wiggins sat on the leather sofa, a glowing tablet resting on his knees. Next to him sat Nora Fletcher, swirling a martini glass.

Daryl looked up and whistled. "Mrs. Underwood. How's the honeymoon phase?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She dropped her purse onto the glass table and sat down. "Cut the crap, Daryl. Show me the numbers."

Nora handed her a fresh martini. She looked at the bandage on Elizabeth's hand. "Goodwin collateral damage?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Elizabeth said, taking a sip of the cold vodka. "The data, Daryl."

Daryl tapped the screen. A complex web of financial charts projected onto the wall monitor.

"Your new husband is a ghost," Daryl said, his voice losing its playful edge. "Everyone thinks he's burning through a trust fund. But look at this."

He highlighted a series of shell companies based in the Caymans. "We found a massive ghost fund aggressively buying up Cantu Group stock on the secondary market for the last six months. The execution is flawless, completely untraceable past a certain point in the Caymans. But based on the timing of the transactions and a few highly suspicious routing nodes, we highly suspect this invisible force is tied to Dorian. We don't have direct proof yet, but the shadow he's casting is terrifying."

Elizabeth stared at the red lines on the graph. Her pulse quickened. "He's not just punishing Acey. He's executing a hostile takeover."

Nora adjusted her glasses. "Grandma Cantu knows someone is circling. She's been taking secret meetings with Goldman and Morgan Stanley, begging for a white knight to save them."

Elizabeth leaned back against the leather cushions. Her mind raced. Dorian was playing everyone. He was a wolf wearing a playboy's skin. And he had married her to get closer to the Cantu family's throat.

"So," Daryl asked, watching her face. "Do we pull the plug? If he finds out who you really are, he'll use you too."

Elizabeth's fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the stem of her martini glass. A cold thrill shot through her veins.

"No," Elizabeth said. "He thinks I'm a pawn. It's time to see how the king reacts when the pawn goes rogue."

She stood up and downed the rest of her drink. "Keep tracking the money, Daryl."

She walked out of the VIP room. The deafening roar of electronic music hit her instantly.

She walked to the glass railing overlooking the main dance floor. The strobe lights cut through the darkness.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and locked onto a VIP booth in the corner.

Dorian was there. He sat with his legs spread, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, surrounded by three men in expensive suits. He looked bored. He looked completely in control.

Elizabeth's grip on the railing tightened. It was time to break his control.