PART 3:

tomorrow, I will personally liquidate his life. He will be begging for pennies on the street. Understood, sir. Shall I also make a move on Richard Caldwell? Not yet, Nathaniel said, his eyes narrowing as he looked through the glass at Chloe, who was massaging her temples in the kitchen. Let Caldwell play his hand a little longer. I want to see his entire network before I burn it to the ground. Yes, Mr. Cross.

How is Miss Lily? She’s safe, Nathaniel said, his voice softening slightly. The Sterling penthouse is a fortress. Whoever put the hit out on Sarah hasn’t tracked us here. Maintaining the cover is our top priority. Very good, sir. Nathaniel hung up. He took a deep breath, letting the terrifying aura of the world’s most powerful shadow billionaire bleed away, replacing it with the docile, quiet mechanic. He walked back inside.

Garage is doing fine, he told Chloe. The next morning, Chloe was jolted awake by her phone ringing frantically. It was her CFO. Chloe, turn on CNBC. Now. Chloe scrambled for the remote. The news ticker at the bottom of the screen was flashing red. Breaking: Omnicorp reverses decision overnight. Signs exclusive with Sterling Global.

CEO Victor Harrison cites unforeseen strategic alignments. Chloe sat in bed, utterly paralyzed. Below market? Harrison hated her. Why would he suddenly hand her the deal of a lifetime? She walked out into the living room in a daze. Nathaniel was sitting on the rug, letting Lily put pink butterfly hair clips into his dark hair.

He looked ridiculous. He looked completely harmless. Morning, Nathaniel said, perfectly deadpan, a pink butterfly clipped to his bangs. Coffee’s in the pot. Chloe stared at him, then at the news on her iPad. It had to be a coincidence. It was the only logical explanation. Two months into the arrangement, the facade of their marriage was put to the ultimate test, the Sterling annual charity gala.

It was the social event of the season, a snake pit of billionaires, politicians, and socialites. You don’t have to speak, Chloe instructed Nathaniel, as they rode down in the private elevator. She was wearing a breathtaking emerald green silk gown that clung to her curves, a fortune in diamonds resting on her collarbone.

Nathaniel wore a bespoke black tuxedo that Chloe had ordered for him. When he had stepped out of his room, Chloe had literally stopped breathing for a second. The tailored lines of the suit clung to his broad chest and narrow waist. With his hair slicked back, he didn’t look like a mechanic. He looked like James Bond. It unnerved her deeply.

Just smile, nod, and let me do the talking, she continued, regaining her composure. Caldwell will be there. He will try to provoke you. He wants to prove to the board that my marriage is a sham and that I’m mentally unstable for marrying a working-class man. I’ve dealt with bullies before, Nathaniel said mildly, adjusting his cuffs.

Not bullies like Richard Caldwell. He destroys lives for sport. The ballroom at the Plaza Hotel was glittering with crystal chandeliers and overflowing with orchids. The moment Chloe and Nathaniel entered, the room went silent. Flashbulbs erupted. Whispers cascaded through the crowd like a wave. That’s him? The charity case? I heard she found him living in a dumpster.

He cleans up well, but look at his hands. Calloused. Chloe kept her chin high, her arm looped stiffly through Nathaniel’s. To his credit, Nathaniel was a rock. His heart rate, which she could feel against her arm, was terrifyingly slow and steady. Halfway through the evening, the confrontation Chloe dreaded finally happened.

Richard Caldwell, holding a crystal tumbler of scotch, swaggered over with two of his sycophant executives. Chloe, darling, Caldwell purred, his eyes raking over her body before dismissing Nathaniel entirely. You look spectacular. Though I must admit, I’m surprised you brought the help to such a sophisticated event. Chloe’s eyes flashed. Richard, leave.

Oh, come now. I just want to meet the lucky man. Caldwell finally turned his gaze to Nathaniel, a sneer playing on his lips. Nathaniel, is it? I hear you fix cars. Fascinating. Tell me, do you even know what a derivative is? Or do you just know how to change a tire? The executive snickered. Chloe stepped forward, fury rising in her throat, but Nathaniel gently placed a hand on her waist, stopping her.

Nathaniel looked at Caldwell. For the first time since Chloe had met him, Nathaniel didn’t look tired. His green eyes locked onto Caldwell’s with an intensity that seemed to drop the temperature in the room. I know enough, Nathaniel said, his voice quiet, smooth, and dangerously calm. Caldwell chuckled, sipping his scotch. Is that right? You know my driver’s Bentley has been making a rattling noise.

Maybe I can slip you 100 bucks to take a look under the hood later. Nathaniel didn’t blink. He reached out, his calloused fingers slowly plucking the crystal tumbler of scotch right out of Caldwell’s hand. He did it so smoothly, so authoritatively, that Caldwell was too stunned to resist. Nathaniel swirled the expensive liquid, looking at it thoughtfully.

Then, he took a step closer to Caldwell, invading his personal space. A derivative, Richard, Nathaniel said softly, so only Chloe and Caldwell could hear, is a financial contract whose value is reliant upon an underlying asset. Much like how your company’s current stock valuation is entirely reliant on the fabricated Q3 earnings report you filed 2 weeks ago in the Cayman Islands.

Caldwell’s smug smile vanished instantly. The color completely drained from his face, leaving him looking like a sick ghost. How? Caldwell stammered, his eyes darting around in panic. Who told you? I also know, Nathaniel continued, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying the weight of an executioner’s blade, that you leveraged your own mother’s estate to cover your margin calls last Tuesday.

👉 [Tap here for the Next Part ] 👈