Chapter 2

Chloe settled into our house without hesitation, walking around like she owned the place while constantly pushing my boundaries.

"Vivienne, this blouse is way too dark. Sick people should wear bright colors to keep their spirits up!"

Without asking, she took it upon herself to clear out several dark-colored designer coats from my walk-in closet.

"Vivienne, the doctor said you need total bed rest. Let me handle these corporate files for you. You shouldn't stress your head over business."

Her hand reached out boldly toward the company binders sitting on my mahogany desk.

I pressed my palm firmly down on the paperwork, flashing her a faint, weary smile.

"No need. This company is my father's life work. Reviewing them makes me feel grounded."

Chloe's hand froze in midair. A flash of irritation flickered across her face, quickly replaced by faux sympathy.

"Alright, but please don't burn yourself out. Julian specifically told me to make sure you don't overexert yourself."

I lowered my gaze, putting on the act of an exhausted invalid.

"I know. I know you both mean well."

The second she shut the door behind her, I locked it from the inside.

My phone vibrated. Logan was calling. His voice was as sharp, calm, and professional as ever.

"Vivienne, I ran the search."

"The registered owner of Westside Health Center is a nobody named Mark Larson."

"However, the largest shadow shareholder, holding a forty percent silent stake, is Julian's maternal uncle."

"What's more, that clinic was slapped with an internal disciplinary fine last month for issuing falsified diagnostic paperwork. They paid off the board to sweep it under the rug."

My fingertips turned ice-cold.

"Logan, I need you to do something for me," I said in a hushed, crystal-clear tone.

"Draft a formal whistleblower complaint against Westside Health Center for issuing fraudulent medical diagnostics."

"State that their falsified reports actively endanger patient safety and lives."

"Draft it, but don't file it just yet. Wait for my signal."

"Vivienne, what's going on over there?" Logan’s instincts kicked in immediately.

"Nothing I can't handle. Just some garbage I need to clean up," I replied, not wanting to drag him into danger too early.

"Just do as I asked. Also, hire the sharpest private investigator you know. I need tabs kept on someone."

I hung up and stared out the tall window.

Julian, you thought you orchestrated a foolproof trap. Little do you know, every pawn on your board will become an ironclad piece of evidence against you.

That evening, Julian and Chloe lounged on the living room sofa, watching television, their laughter floating up the stairs.

I had retired to bed "early."

After a while, holding an empty glass, I tiptoed down the stairs and halted just behind the corner of the foyer.

"Julian, she's acting weird today. She wouldn't even let me touch the company folders," Chloe complained, her voice hushed.

"People get overly defensive when they're sick. Don't rush it," Julian consoled her.

"I already had Vance finalize the asset management power-of-attorney agreement."

"The terms are airtight. The moment she signs, full operational and executive control of her family's firm transfers directly to me."

"In a few days, I'll find the right moment to get her signature. Once that's done, I'll be calling all the shots."

"That's amazing!" Chloe gasped with greedy excitement.

"I've been sick of her high-and-mighty attitude for years. We're both daughters of the same household—why does she get the entire estate? My mom stayed with her dad for so long and barely walked away with peanuts!"

"Don't worry. What's ours will come to us, down to the last penny," Julian murmured, his tone turning sinister.

"Once the ink is dry, we'll pack her off to an overseas clinic to 'recuperate' and let her rot away."

My knuckles turned white around the glass in my grip.

I quietly crept back to my bedroom. From the hidden lining of my travel bag, I retrieved a miniature recording device no bigger than a thumbnail.

My father had given it to me before he died, warning me to stay vigilant against unscrupulous corporate rivals. Who would have guessed it would first be used on my fiancé?

I couldn't guarantee they would slip up, but in my past life, Julian always took late-night calls downstairs in the living room.

That was their unguarded hour.

Pretending to head down for some water, I silently wedged the micro-recorder between the seam of the sofa cushions.