MARRIED TO THE MAN WHO RUINED ME

IRIS QUINN

My phone wouldn't stop ringing.

I stared at it, watching Naomi's name flash across the screen for the fifth time in three minutes. Across the table, Dominic was still talking about his yacht, completely unaware that my world was about to collapse.

“The Mediterranean in August is unmatched,” he said, leaning back with that grin he probably practiced in mirrors.

I picked up my wine glass. “Very original.”

He laughed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “You're brutal.”

“I'm honest. There's a difference.”

The restaurant we were in overlooked the Seine with its soft lighting and expensive wine. It was exactly what I needed. A place where people came to forget their problems or pretend they didn't have any.

I'd flown to Paris two days ago for exactly that reason to run away from my father’s lectures about duty and my mother’s guilt trips about the family legacy. Especially to avoid mentions of Caesar Laurent or the marriage proposal I'd been dodging for a year.

Just me and a handsome stranger and a city that didn't know my name.

My phone buzzed again and I flipped it face down.

Dominic reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. “Someone you should be worried about?”

“My assistant.”

“And you're ignoring her?”

I shrugged, momentarily glancing away. “She'll survive.”

He grinned wider. “I like you.”

“You don't know me.”

“Then let me fix that.”

The phone rang again. A full ringtone this time, loud enough that the couple at the next table glanced over.

Dominic's smile faltered. “Maybe you should—”

“Fine.” I grabbed the phone and stood. “Give me a second.”

I walked toward the terrace doors, pressing the phone to my ear. “Naomi, this better be—”

“Iris.” Her voice cracked.

I stopped walking.

Naomi never sounded like that. She was the most composed person I knew. Three years older than me and the kind of woman who could handle a PR crisis before breakfast and still have time to reschedule my entire week without breaking a sweat.

But right now, she sounded like she was falling apart.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You need to come home."

"Why? Did my mother threaten to jump off the balcony again?"

"It's your father."

My chest tightened.

The last time I'd seen him, we'd fought. Badly. He'd stood in his office with his arms crossed, looking at me like I was a disappointing quarterly report.

You're being selfish, Iris. This marriage is necessary.

I'd told him I wasn't a business asset he could trade. Then I'd walked out, booked a flight to Paris, and turned off my phone for two days just to prove I could.

"Is he hurt?" I asked quietly.

"No. He's not hurt."

"Then what—"

"Iris." She took a shaky breath. "Your father has been arrested."

The words didn't make sense at first. I heard them, but they didn't register in my head. How could that even be? He wasn’t that type of person.

"Arrested," I repeated.

"Yes."

"For what?"

"Fraud."

I laughed, turning back to where Dominic was sitting, sipping his wine. "That's not possible."

"Iris—"

"My father doesn't commit fraud, Naomi. Someone made a mistake."

It was true. He was too prim and proper and believed everyone had to be accountable because lives depended on our company. He would never commit fraud.

"It's everywhere. The news, the internet. They're saying he embezzled forty million dollars."

My hand tightened on the phone. "What are you talking about?"

"Turn on the news."

I looked around the terrace. There was a TV mounted on the wall near the bar inside. I walked back through the doors and stopped in front of it.

The screen showed a breaking news banner.

TECH MOGUL RICHARD QUINN ARRESTED ON FRAUD CHARGES

And there he was.

My father—walking through a crowd of reporters with two police officers on either side of him. His hands were cuffed in front of him. His suit was wrinkled. He looked smaller than I'd ever seen him.

The headline scrolled across the bottom.

Quinn Enterprises CEO Accused of Embezzling $40 Million

I couldn't breathe.

"Iris?" Naomi's voice came through the phone. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here."

"You need to come home. Now."

I stared at the screen. They were replaying the footage. My father stumbled slightly as they led him up the steps where reporters stood, shouting questions as they shoved their cameras in his face.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

"Iris?"

"I'm coming," I said.

I hung up just as Dominic appeared beside me. "Everything okay?"

I turned to look at him. He seemed so far away suddenly, like he belonged to a different world. One where fathers didn't get arrested and families didn't collapse overnight.

"I have to go," I said.

"Now?"

"Yes."

He frowned. "Did something happen?"

I didn't answer. I just walked past him, grabbed my purse from the table, and headed for the exit.

Behind me, I heard him call my name. I didn't stop.

The flight back felt endless.

I couldn't sleep. Couldn't think. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father in handcuffs and my face when I'd told him I wouldn't marry Caesar Laurent.

I'd called it control and said he was selfish. I told him I wasn't going to sell myself off just because he needed a business alliance.

This marriage isn't about what you want, Iris. It's what will save this family.

Did he know this was coming?

The Laurents and the Quinns had never been allies. We simply tolerated each other because our companies overlapped and mostly because society expected it, but there was no love between our families.

And now my father was being arrested for fraud.

The timing was too perfect.

I pulled out my phone and searched his name. The articles were everywhere.

Quinn Enterprises Under Investigation for Securities Fraud

Richard Quinn Accused of Falsifying Financial Records

Laurent Group Provides Evidence in Quinn Case

I stopped scrolling.

Laurent Group. Caesar's family.

My stomach turned as I opened the article.

Sources confirm that the Laurent Group's forensic accounting team discovered discrepancies in Quinn Enterprises' financial records dating back seven years. The evidence was turned over to federal prosecutors last week, leading to today's arrest.

I read it again. Then again.

The Laurents had done this.

Victor Laurent. Caesar's father. The man who'd proposed the marriage alliance a year ago. The same man my father had been negotiating with ever since.

They'd destroyed him.

And I'd been in Paris drinking wine while it happened.

My chest felt tight and I wanted to scream and cry. I wanted to call my father and ask if any of it was true. But I couldn’t. Because he was in a cell somewhere and I was thirty thousand feet in there. And there was nothing I could do except sit here and wait.

I hated waiting. I hated that I had left. I hated that the last thing I’d said to him was that he was selfish.

What if he thought I believed the charges? What if he thought I’d abandoned him?

I locked my phone and stared out the window at the clouds below.

This was my fault.

If I hadn’t run to Paris, maybe I would’ve been there. Maybe I could have done something. Maybe—

No.

I stopped myself. This wasn’t about me.

This was about the Laurent. About Victor and his perfect Son Caesar and whatever game they were playing.

And when I got home, I was going to figure out exactly what they’d done. Then I was going to make them pay for it.