Chapter 3
The heavy oak doors of Julian’s private study slammed shut, locking out the noise of the sprawling estate outside. The room smelled of aged leather, pipe tobacco, and impending ruin. Julian poured himself a finger of amber scotch, his hand shaking slightly as the heavy crystal decanter clinked against the rim of the glass. He downed the liquor in a single burn, seeking courage in the liquid heat. Across the room, Rebecca stood by the tall arched windows, staring out into the manicured gardens where distant security lights cut through the midnight fog.
The light blue halter dress felt entirely out of place in the somber, masculine room, yet she refused to change, as if clinging to the clothing of the gala would somehow preserve the truth of what had happened. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to ward off a chill that came from deep within her bones.
“Your mother has already called her legal team,” Rebecca said without turning around. “Hasn’t she?”
Julian exhaled heavily, leaning his lower back against the mahogany desk. “Arthur Sterling woke up his entire firm twenty minutes ago. You know how Beatrice operates. She doesn’t just want a separation; she wants to destroy anyone associated with the scandal before it hits the morning papers. She’s framing this as an inside job, targeting not just you, but my judgment in bringing you into her circle.”
Rebecca turned slowly, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp clarity. The vulnerability that had defined her reaction in the ballroom was hardening into resolve. She realized that playing the victim would only lead to her complete destruction.
“Your judgment?” Rebecca echoed, her voice dropping an octave. “Julian, this isn't just about a messy divorce or a bruised ego. That necklace box didn’t materialize in my clutch by magic. Someone had to slip it into my bag while I was distracted by the toast. And the only people who knew where my things were kept are the people inside this inner circle. People loyal to Beatrice.”
Julian flinched, the accusation hitting closer to home than he cared to admit. He set his empty glass down with a sharp clack. “Are you accusing my mother of staging her own robbery?”
“I’m accusing someone of orchestrating a masterpiece of sabotage,” Rebecca corrected, stepping away from the window and walking toward the desk. “And Beatrice stands to gain the most. She gets to humiliate you for marrying outside her approval, she cuts off any division of assets in the divorce by proving moral turpitude, and she keeps her precious gems locked safely away in police custody until she decides to claim the insurance payout.”
Julian stared at his wife, seeing a stranger with a mind as sharp as broken glass. For a fleeting second, admiration flickered beneath his fear. But the terror of financial ruin quickly stamped it out. He shook his head, retreating behind his usual posture of denial.
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“You’re losing your mind, Rebecca,” Julian muttered, rubbing his temples. “Beatrice is ruthless, but she wouldn’t risk her reputation on a stunt like this.”
“She just did,” Rebecca whispered, her gaze locking onto his. “And unless we find the real culprit by dawn, my reputation won't be the only thing buried.”
