Page 89 of The Contract Marriage

“Probably not. It was bought with the trust’s money, and the trust owns the things bought with its money, except for personal items like clothes and makeup. Why?”

His chest heaves. “You set me up.”

“No, Tyler. You didn’t do your proper due diligence.” I lean forward with an innocent smile. “Aren’t you a private wealth management advisor?”

“You made her and Hugh sound rich. The honeymoon to Laucala Island—”

“Oh… Didn’t he have the funds to send you and Brielle there? Is that what this is about?” I ask, my voice dripping with faux sympathy.

“That isn’t—” He stops, sticking his fingers into his hair. “You know what I mean! It’s bullshit!”

“Well, if Hugh couldn’t afford to splurge on your honeymoon, that’s on him, not me. He probably didn’t have enough money saved up.”

“Saved up?” He rakes his hair again. “He’s supposed to be rich!”

“Rich? I wouldn’t say that. He manages his portion of the trust distribution, and it’s a generous sum considering how horrible of a human being he is. But”—I give him a perplexed look—“is this really my problem? I never told you to marry her, did I? As a matter of fact, I was quite heartbroken that she stole yet another of my significant others.” I dab at my eyes but can’t suppress a smile.

“You won’t get away with this!” He lunges toward me.

Inhaling sharply, I jump back. Security is ready and grabs his arms. I compose myself and shoot him a cool look full of disdain, purposefully slowing my breathing to settle my nerves.

“Let go! Don’t you know who I am?” he shouts, struggling.

“Right at the moment, you’re a guy who’s trespassing,” the senior guard says. “And you’re about to be a guy who gets booted out of the building.”

“You…!” Tyler’s face turns red. He wants to scream and call me a bitch, but he can’t make a bigger scene than he already has, not when it might generate headlines. These days everyone’s carrying a camera in their pocket.

Simon rushes over. “Olivia, are you all right?” He starts to run his hands down my arms.

I take a step back, pulling away. “I’m fine. He didn’t touch me.”

He drops his hands. “Sorry. I just… I panicked when I saw him with you.” He watches the guards dragging Tyler off. “Should we get more security? Start issuing access passes? Maybe I should start driving you to and from work again—”

“No, none of that’s necessary. Tyler just yaps and growls like a Chihuahua. No real danger. Guess it took him a while to figure out Brielle’s more broke than his gambling account.”

And when I deliver a baby, everything will be stripped from them.

Brielle won’t even be able to drive the car she loves so much. All those shiny Lamborghinis Hugh loves to drive around town, looking suave and rich? They will be collected in due time, back under the trust’s control. Although I haven’t been a huge fan of John Highsmith, he’s been very thorough in ensuring that every asset bought with the distribution has been recorded as property of the Whitmore Trust.

No more fancy cars and expensive dinners for Hugh. No more Botox and boob jobs for Deena.

Just the idea makes me want to pirouette across the lobby.

Hugh fucked with the wrong woman. He should’ve never betrayed Mom. Never allowed Brielle to kill Pochi and get away with it.

For the rest of the day, I wrap up a couple of urgent matters over the pet urn production and stretch my neck. It’s been a long week—my eyes drop to the calendar on my desk and note a circle marking the predicted start of my period. Except I haven’t had my period in…

I blink.

Since before the courthouse ceremony.

My hands start shaking. I jump up from my executive chair. It rolls back and crashes against the wall.

“I’m heading home,” I say, grabbing my purse and walking out.

Simon looks up, eyebrows raised. “You have a call—”

“You deal with it. Handle it as best you see fit. I’m counting on you.”