He picked up his phone.
No messages from me.
No calls.
Nothing.
His smile faltered slightly.
“She’ll cool down.”
Jasmine reached across the desk and touched his wrist.
“You deserve someone who understands your world.”
Aaron looked at her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then his phone rang.
The caller ID made his face change.
“Who is it?” Jasmine asked.
Aaron didn’t answer.
He stood.
“Excuse me.”
He walked into the adjoining conference room and shut the door.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end said only one sentence.
Aaron’s face went pale.
“What?”
A pause.
“You’re certain?”
Another pause.
His hand tightened around the phone.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“That can’t be right.”
The caller said something else.
Aaron slowly sat down.
“What do you mean the ownership records changed?”
Silence.
Then Aaron whispered:
“Who authorized it?”
The answer came.
His blood ran cold.
Because the signature wasn’t forged.
It was real.
And it belonged to Alyssa.
That evening, I arrived at my family’s estate.
My father was waiting in the library.
Standing by the fireplace with a glass of untouched whiskey.
He looked older than he had that morning.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
When I walked in, he didn’t ask if I was okay.
He just said:
“You finally stopped choosing him.”
I looked at him.
“I thought I was choosing love.”
My father sighed.
“No, sweetheart.”
He stepped toward me.
“You were choosing a man you hoped would eventually become worthy of your love.”
That sentence cracked something open in me.
I looked away.
“I gave him everything.”
“I know.”
“I gave him the money.”
“I know.”
“The patents.”
“I know.”
“My connections. My reputation. My family.”
“I know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And he still thinks I’m nothing.”
My father set his glass down.
“That’s because you made one mistake.”
“What?”
“You hid your power so well that he eventually believed you didn’t have any.”
I stared at him.
Then he opened a drawer in his desk.
Inside was a thick black folder.
He slid it toward me.
My name was printed on the cover.
Not Alyssa Prescott.
Just:
ALYSSA VALE — CONTROLLING INTERESTS
My breathing slowed.
I opened it.
The first page listed companies.
The second, trusts.
The third, intellectual property.
The fourth, voting rights.
I flipped another page.
Then another.
My hands started to shake.
“Dad…”
He didn’t answer.
I looked up.
“How much of Prescott Technologies do I actually own?”
He held my gaze.
“Enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
He leaned forward.
“So I’ll give you the real one.”
He tapped one finger on the final page.
“On paper, Aaron Prescott is the founder and CEO.”
My eyes moved down the page.
“Behind the scenes, you control the majority of the voting structure.”
Silence.
I leaned back.
“Which means that although everyone calls you the founder…”
I paused.
“I control the company.”
Aaron’s mother would have stood abruptly, except she wasn’t here — I was at my father’s house.
Wait — no, I’m picturing the scene wrong; my father continued.
“There is more.”
My eyes lifted.
“What more?”
He reached for another envelope.
“This came to us yesterday.”
He handed it over.
I opened it.
A photograph.
Jasmine.
Standing outside a private building in Zurich.
Beside her, a man I recognized.
Aaron’s former business partner.
The one who’d supposedly vanished from the company three years earlier after a bitter falling-out.
I checked the date.
Three days earlier.
My heart started pounding.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” my father said.
“It’s very possible.”
I turned the photo over.
A handwritten note on the back.
Six words.
She didn’t come here for Aaron.
I stared at it.
My father watched me closely.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
Then said:
“Jasmine has been investigating you.”
A cold wave ran down my spine.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“We already tried.”
“And?”
My father’s face darkened.
“We found out Jasmine isn’t her real name.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She changed her identity seven years ago.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked back at the photograph.
For the first time, the woman who’d taken my seat on the jet didn’t look like a foolish secretary trying to seduce my husband.
She looked like something else.
Someone who’d walked into our lives with a purpose.
And suddenly the humiliating scene on the plane felt different.
Maybe Jasmine hadn’t taken my seat because she wanted Aaron.
Maybe she wanted me gone.
Maybe she’d known exactly what would happen.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Just breathing.
Then a woman’s voice whispered:
“Alyssa…”
I went completely still.
The voice went on.
“If you want to know why Jasmine really came into your husband’s company…”
A pause.
“Look at the original patent files.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who are you?”
The caller ignored the question.
Then she said something that made my knees weaken.
“Your husband didn’t build Prescott Technologies.”
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“What did you say?”
“He stole it.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
My father rose slowly.
“What happened?”
I looked at him.
Then at the black folder.
Then at the photo of Jasmine.
And finally at the thirteen patents that had once pulled Aaron’s company back from the edge.
For four years I’d believed my worst mistake was loving the wrong man.
But staring at those documents, a far more terrifying thought crept in.
