The Billionaire's Cruel Game She Broke Him Back

"Dirk says all this junk is an eyesore. He wants you to get rid of it yourself."

Amy circled the apartment, her gaze sweeping over everything before finally coming to rest at my workstation.

That was where I kept my most prized authentication tools.

"So this is what you depend on to survive?"

She picked up a custom-made magnifying loupe and tossed it on the floor.

Crack. The lens shattered.

I'd scrimped and saved for an entire year to afford that.

"Amy, don't you dare!"

I lunged forward to grab the rest of my tools.

The bodyguards seized me, pinning my arms behind my back.

Amy walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard.

"Don't I dare?"

"A piece of trash like you thinks she can have designs on my man?"

"Dirk told me himself. He said the thing he hates most about you is those eyes. The way you look at everyone like you're checking them for flaws."

Her gaze dropped to my right hand. Something cold and vicious crept into her expression.

"I hear these hands of yours are quite valuable."

"That they can tell real from fake. That they can feel the grain of a brushstroke."

She jerked her chin at the bodyguards, and they dragged me toward the stairwell.

The building was old, Soviet-style. The stairs were steep and made of solid concrete.

"Isabella Fox. Without these hands, what kind of 'Divine Eye' are you?"

I fought with everything I had, screaming for help.

But every door on the floor had already slammed shut. The neighbors had seen the bodyguards and wanted no part of it.

One of the bodyguards shoved me.

My body pitched forward and tumbled down the staircase.

My right hand struck the concrete edge of a step with the full force of the fall.

White-hot agony tore through me.

I heard the bone snap.

When I woke up in the hospital, my right hand was wrapped in layers of bandages.

The doctor shook his head.

"Comminuted fracture. Severe nerve damage."

"You'll struggle to hold anything heavy from now on, let alone perform precision authentication work."

My mind went blank.

For an authenticator, your hands are your life.

No sense of touch. No fine motor control.

I was finished.

Dirk Harding, you're ruthless.

You didn't just steal my heart. You had to destroy my livelihood too.

The door swung open.

Dirk walked in.

He looked as polished as ever, carrying a fruit basket in one hand.

"Isabella, Amy's young. She doesn't always know where to draw the line."

He sat down. His voice carried a thin veneer of warmth, the kind you'd offer a stray you pitied.

"There's fifty thousand dollars on this card. Enough to last you the rest of your life."

"All you have to do is sign this settlement agreement and drop any claims against Amy."

I stared at the card.

Then I laughed.

Tears slid down my cheeks and into the corners of my mouth. The taste was shockingly bitter.

"Fifty thousand?"

"Dirk, you think my hand is worth fifty thousand dollars?"

"Or do you think five years of your lies are worth fifty thousand dollars?"

His brow creased. Whatever thin patience he'd brought with him evaporated.

"Don't push your luck."

"You should know by now that in Greystone City, I have a hundred ways to make you disappear."

"Sign it. It's better for everyone."

I took the settlement agreement.

My right hand throbbed so badly I could barely grip the pen.

I switched to my left hand and scrawled my name in jagged, uneven letters.

Satisfaction settled across Dirk's face.

"There we go. Smart people know when to accept reality."

He picked up the signed agreement and walked out without a backward glance.

What he didn't know was this:

Beneath that settlement agreement, my phone had been hidden the entire time.

Every word he'd just said, his own admission that Amy had ordered the assault, had been recorded. Crystal clear.

I knew the recording alone wasn't enough to take down the Harding family.

But I could wait.

After I was discharged, I vanished.

I locked myself inside a run-down basement apartment.

My right hand was useless, so I trained my left.

My sense of touch was gone, so I sharpened my eyes.

I threw myself into researching Harding Group's luxury retail operations.

Dirk had been preparing an unprecedented "Global Limited Edition Auction" to prove his worth to his family.

It was his ticket to the throne.

It was also the funeral I'd handpicked for him.

I reached out to Mentor Hargrove, the man who'd brought me into the industry.

When the old man saw my hand, tears streamed down his weathered face.

"Bella, why put yourself through this?"

"Mentor, I'm not asking for much." I held his gaze. "I just need one invitation to that auction."