My husband’s mistress grabbed me by the hair in a private makeup room and poured an entire bottle of foundation down the front of my white gown. / Chapter 37 / 62

Chapter 37 - The Price of Vanity

"Look at you," Daniel breathed, spreading his arms wide as if welcoming an audience to a theater. "You actually wore it."

His gaze raked over the white gown, drinking in the wet silk clinging to my silhouette. A twisted, euphoric smile stretched across his mouth.

"I told them you would come," Daniel shouted, gesturing vaguely toward the camera lens. The red recording light pulsed like a heartbeat. "I told our partners in Geneva, in Singapore, in London. I told them Serena Vance is predictable. She is sentimental. She clings to the relics of our dead marriage because without me, she is nothing but an ordinary woman who got lucky with an inheritance!"

I remained motionless in the center of the room. The wind roared outside, lashing against the thick hexagonal glass panels of the lantern room. Rain wept down the transparent walls, distorted by the erratic sweep of the lighthouse beam.

"Let Elena go, Daniel," I said calmly. "She was just your pawn. She doesn't have the codes."

Elena lifted her head with a choked sob. The arrogance that had defined her when she slammed me against the dressing room mirror weeks ago had evaporated into pure terror.

"Serena... please..." Elena gasped, blood trickling from the corner of her swollen lip. "He’s insane... he brought me here to kill us both after you transfer the funds... he never loved anyone..."

"Shut up!" Daniel barked, not even looking at her. He took two steps toward me, stopping just out of arm's reach. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek military tablet.

"The theater ends now, Serena," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a razor-thin whisper. "The seventy million you moved into your Harbor House entity. Transfer it to the escrow routing number on this screen. Right now. On camera."

"And if I refuse?"

Daniel’s smile vanished. He reached behind his back and drew a silver revolver, thumbing back the hammer with a sharp, mechanical *click*.

"If you refuse, I shoot Elena in the kneecap first. Then I take this foundation," he pointed to the velvet clutch in my hand, "and I re-enact our little anniversary dinner. Only this time, I won't just ruin the dress. I’ll make sure the world watches you crawl across this floor in your soaked white silk, begging for your life before I blow your brains out onto the lantern glass."

"You always loved the foundation," I said quietly, unzipping the velvet clutch. "You thought pouring it over me broke my spirit."

"It proved who owned who," Daniel hissed. "Now give me the drive."

I reached into the clutch. My fingers brushed against the cold grip of the carbon pistol resting against my thigh, but I didn't draw it yet. Instead, I pulled out the small glass bottle of foundation Daniel had left on my porch.

"Do you know why I kept this dress, Daniel?" I asked, holding the amber bottle up to the halogen light.

"I don't give a damn about your poetry, Serena! The codes!"

"I kept it," I continued, taking a slow step toward him, "because it reminded me of the exact second I realized you were weak. A strong man builds his own fortune. A weak man steals from his wife, uses a mistress to do his dirty work, and hides behind camera feeds when the debt comes due."