Chapter 2

Wren's POV

Five minutes later, my offshore anonymous account chimed. One hundred thousand dollars had been deposited.

Looking at those new digits, I took a deep breath. At least I hadn't forgotten how to make money.

The next morning when I came downstairs, Jeffrey sat at the dining table drinking coffee. Calla had already left, but the place still stank of her cheap perfume.

Seeing me, Jeffrey slammed his coffee cup down.

"What the hell was wrong with you last night?" He looked at me like I was some employee he was firing. "Calla is a key player at the company. You're my wife and you can't even be polite?"

I walked to the fridge and poured myself ice water. "Your idea of hospitality is making your wife wait on your female colleague like a maid?"

Jeffrey frowned. "Wren, have you been home too long? Brain getting rusty? I'm out there busting my ass to support this family, and all you have to do is cook and clean. What's there to complain about?"

I didn't bother responding. This guy would never see anything I contributed.

He stood up, adjusting his suit cuffs. "Oh, by the way. Calla's attending an important dinner with me tomorrow night. Her dress is at the dry cleaner downtown—pick it up this afternoon. And grab some fruit she likes. She's been working overtime and needs vitamins."

Looking at his smug face made me sick.

"I'm not going."

Jeffrey's eyes sharpened instantly. "What did you say?"

"I'm not going." I set down my glass. "I'm not her assistant, and I'm not your errand girl. Want to kiss up to Calla? Do it yourself. Or pay someone."

Jeffrey laughed coldly. "Wren, do you understand your position here? You don't earn a dime—you eat MY food, spend MY money. And you have the nerve to refuse when I ask you to run one errand?" He paused. "You want me to cut up your credit cards?"

"Go ahead." I turned toward the stairs.

"You STOP right there!" Jeffrey roared behind me. "You think you can survive without me? You couldn't even get a decent job now! Shit, you couldn't even get hired at McDonald's at your age!"

I ignored his shouting and went back to my room, closing the door.

His words didn't hurt—they made me want to laugh. He had no idea what his "worthless housewife" was actually doing.

I opened my laptop and logged back into the dark web. The European bank's ransomware was tricky—they'd used the latest multi-layer encryption algorithms. No wonder the bounty had been sitting for three days with no takers.

But to me, it was just a few slightly complex math problems.

I put on noise-canceling headphones and my fingers flew across the keyboard. Lines of code streamed down the screen. That old rush came flooding back.

Two hours later, I hit the final enter key.

The screen flashed green: DECRYPTION SUCCESSFUL.

I packaged the fix and defense protocol, sending it to my employer. Within ten minutes, my anonymous account chimed again.

Four hundred thousand dollars. The full balance.

Staring at the half-million in my account, I exhaled slowly. I picked up my phone and paid cash for a car online, having it delivered to a luxury downtown apartment—my new place I'd rented last night.

After finishing everything, I pulled out the bottom desk drawer and retrieved the printed divorce papers.

I picked up a pen and signed my name without hesitation.

Just then, the bedroom door burst open.

Panic shot through me. I quickly flipped the divorce papers face-down and covered them with a magazine.

Jeffrey strode in, frowning, searching the room. "Where's my passport? I have that Germany trip next week and can't find it anywhere."

He headed straight for my desk, reaching for the drawer with the papers.

My heart jumped. If he found them now, everything would be ruined.

"Jeffrey!" I jumped up, blocking the drawer.

He stopped, eyes suspicious. "What are you doing? Hiding something you shouldn't be?"

Just as he was about to push past me, his phone rang.

Calla's ringtone.

Jeffrey froze and immediately answered. "Calla, what's wrong?"

"Jeffrey, my car broke down on the road. I'm scared. Can you come get me?" Calla's voice was all shaky and crying.

"Don't worry, send me your location. I'm on my way." Jeffrey hung up, forgot all about the passport, and headed for the door.

At the doorway, he stopped and looked back. "By the way. I'm WARNING you—you WILL pick up that dress for the dinner. Otherwise, don't even think about coming home tonight."

After I heard his car drive off, I pulled the divorce papers from under the magazine and carefully placed them in my purse.

I walked to the closet and started packing. I didn't own much—seven years of focusing everything on Jeffrey had left my wardrobe with nothing but a few discount clothes.

My eyes fell on a locked rosewood jewelry box. My mother's only inheritance—a priceless antique emerald necklace.

I found the key and opened the box.

Empty.

I stared. I couldn't think. I'd treasured that necklace, never even worn it. How could it be gone?

I suddenly remembered Jeffrey rummaging through things late last night.

I grabbed my phone and opened Calla's Instagram.

Her latest post was a selfie. Calla wore a sexy nightgown, and around her neck was my mother's antique emerald necklace.

The caption read: "Someone said only this necklace is worthy of me. Feels so good to be cherished. ❤️"

Staring at the photo, I went cold.

He knew exactly what that necklace meant to me. And he still didn't care.

I closed the phone, stone-faced.