Chapter 1 - The Ring on My Finger
Selena jerked upright and screamed, “Why am I wearing a wedding ring?”
Dempster Flores entered carrying a silver breakfast tray and a folded marriage certificate.
A handwritten number showed beneath his signature.
$5,000,000.
This was not a drunken wedding.
Selena Roundtree stared at the emerald-cut diamond on her left hand.
For several seconds, she forgot the enormous man standing near the doorway.
The ring was real.
That was the problem.
Real diamonds caught light differently. Selena knew because Alidoro Wright had once spent forty minutes lecturing her about investment-grade stones while refusing to buy her a birthday necklace because, according to him, jewelry looked better on women with “delicate hands.”
Her hands had never been delicate.
They were strong hands.
Hands that built financial models at two in the morning.
Hands that had corrected Alidoro’s projections before presentations he later claimed as his own.
Hands that had signed leases, paid bills, cooked dinners, wiped tears and eventually packed boxes.
And now one of those hands carried a diamond large enough to pay for her childhood home.
“Take it off.”
Dempster’s voice was low.
Selena looked up.
He stood beside a dark wooden table, dressed entirely in black. His shirt was open at the throat, exposing part of the intricate tattoos climbing his chest and neck. More ink disappeared beneath his rolled sleeves.
He looked exactly like the sort of man sensible women crossed streets to avoid.
Unfortunately, Selena had apparently married him.
“What?”
“If the ring frightens you, take it off.”
She stared at him.
“You’re telling me I can?”
“It’s your hand.”
Something about that answer irritated her more than an argument would have.
Selena yanked at the ring.
It slid over her knuckle.
She stopped before removing it completely.
Why?
She didn’t know.
Maybe because taking it off would make the situation more real.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Dressing room.”
“My phone?”
“Charging beside you.”
She looked.
It was there.
No restraints.
No locked door.
No confiscated phone.
No armed man standing over her.
That somehow made everything stranger.
Selena picked up the device.
Thirty-eight missed calls.
Most were from her sister, Brooke.
Nine were from Alidoro.
Three were from numbers she didn’t recognize.
One message from Alidoro sat at the top.
CALL ME BEFORE YOU DO SOMETHING STUPID.
Selena laughed once.
Dempster watched her.
“What?”
“My ex is warning me against stupidity approximately twelve hours after I apparently married the most terrifying man in New Jersey.”
One corner of Dempster’s mouth almost moved.
Almost.
“New York too.”
She stared.
“Was that a joke?”
“No.”
“Wonderful.”
She pressed her fingertips to her forehead.
Fragments of the previous night came back.
The gala.
Alidoro’s fiancée.
The humiliating comments.
Champagne.
Tequila.
Dempster appearing beside her at the bar.
She remembered asking why a billionaire was drinking alone.
He had answered, “Because everyone who sits beside me usually wants something.”
She had laughed and said, “I want fries.”
And somehow Dempster Flores had ordered fries at a black-tie charity gala.
After that—
Nothing was clear.
Selena looked at him.
“Did we sleep together?”
“No.”
His answer came instantly.
Relief hit so hard she nearly sagged.
“Did you touch me?”
“Only to help you into the car after you fell asleep.”
“And this?”
She lifted her ring hand.
Dempster’s expression hardened.
“You were awake for that.”
“I was drunk.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would you marry me?”
He was silent.
Selena swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Answer me.”
“You asked me to.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
His gaze moved toward the marriage certificate.
“It isn't.”
Selena stood.
The room shifted.
Dempster instinctively moved toward her.
She raised one hand.
He stopped.
That mattered.
She hated that it mattered.
Selena steadied herself against the carved bedpost.
“Start over.”
Dempster remained several feet away.
“Alidoro Wright owes money.”
“I know.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You know?”
“He always owes somebody money. Banks. Investors. Friends. His father. Probably God.”
“Five million dollars.”
Her amusement vanished.
“Five million?”
“Yes.”
“To you?”
“Not originally.”
Dempster walked to the table and opened a leather folder.
“He borrowed through an investment vehicle controlled by three shell companies. He pledged assets as collateral.”
“What assets?”
“That is where you enter the story.”
Dempster removed a document.
Selena didn’t take it.
“What did he pledge?”
“You.”
She stared at him.
“That isn't funny.”
“I know.”
“People aren't collateral.”
“I know.”
“Then stop saying it like I was a car title.”
His jaw tightened.
“Alidoro represented that you controlled an intellectual property portfolio worth substantially more than his debt. He claimed you had agreed to transfer it upon demand.”
Selena felt something cold settle beneath her ribs.
“What portfolio?”
Dempster placed another page on the table.
She saw a familiar name.
Roundtree Predictive Systems.
Her company.
Or what should have become her company.
Three years earlier, Selena had developed an optimization model for freight networks. The system predicted bottlenecks, adjusted routing and reduced empty cargo movement.
Alidoro had called it cute.
Then useful.
Then theirs.
Eventually he had persuaded her to incorporate the project through one of his entities while they sought investors.
Selena had trusted him.
Six months later, their relationship ended.
She had assumed the project died with it.
Dempster watched recognition spread across her face.
“He stole my model.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he tried to sell it to me.”
Her stomach dropped.
Dempster continued.
“When my attorneys discovered the original development records were yours, I refused the transaction.”
“So he owed you five million because—”
“Because the financing had already been advanced against fraudulent representations.”
Selena slowly sat again.
“Why was I at that gala?”
“Alidoro invited you because he needed your signature.”
Her eyes lifted.
Dempster slid a third document across the table.
Selena saw her name.
A signature line.
And beside it—
A handwritten notation.
SUBJECT WILL EXECUTE TONIGHT.
Selena stopped breathing.
“That isn't his handwriting.”
“No.”
“Whose is it?”
“I don't know yet.”
Yet.
The word reminded Selena exactly who Dempster was.
Not merely a billionaire.
A man who found things.
People.
Answers.
“Last night,” he continued, “Alidoro planned to get you intoxicated enough to sign several documents.”
Selena looked sick.
“Did I?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I took them first.”
Her eyes snapped toward him.
“You stole them?”
“Yes.”
“You just admit crimes casually?”
“Only obvious ones.”
Despite herself, Selena almost laughed.
It died quickly.
“And then I married you?”
“Eventually.”
“Why?”
Dempster looked at her for a long moment.
“Because when I explained what Alidoro had done, you asked what would happen if he couldn't claim authority over your work.”
“And?”
“I said marriage would create certain immediate legal complications for the transfer he intended.”
Selena stared.
“That sounds suspiciously convenient.”
“It was.”
“For you?”
“For you.”
“Why would you care?”
That was the first question that made Dempster look away.
Only for a second.
But Selena noticed.
Before she could press him, a knock sounded.
One of Dempster’s security men entered.
“Mr. Flores.”
“What?”
“Wright is at the front gate.”
Selena stood.
Dempster’s expression became stone.
“He brought an attorney,” the guard added.
“Send them away.”
The guard hesitated.
“He says Mrs. Flores belongs to him under the agreement.”
Selena went still.
Dempster did not.
He crossed the room, every controlled movement suddenly carrying something dangerous beneath it.
“Tell Mr. Wright,” he said quietly, “that if he uses that sentence again, his attorney will need an attorney.”
The guard nodded.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
“Sir.”
Dempster turned.
The guard held out the phone.
“There’s something else.”
On the security feed, Alidoro was holding a sealed envelope against the camera.
Written across the front were five words.
FOR SELENA. FROM HER MOTHER.
Selena stopped breathing.
May you like
Her mother had been dead for eleven years.
And Alidoro had just brought a letter in her handwriting.
