The Billion Dollar Wife

#11.

The following morning, the estate was bathed in a deceptive, quiet gold. Ava descended the grand staircase, the hem of her silk nightgown brushing against the cold marble. She found Dominic in the foyer, the sharp lines of his charcoal suit a stark contrast to the soft morning light. He was the picture of lethal composure, adjusting his cuffs with a precision that made her skin prickle.

"Good morning," Ava said, her voice sounding thin in the echoing space.

Dominic didn’t look up immediately. He finished with his cufflink before his gaze drifted toward her. He raked his eyes over her—not with the heat of the previous night, but with a cold, analytical detachment that felt far more dangerous. It was the look of a man checking a perimeter for weaknesses. Without a word of greeting, he turned to the men flanking the door, barking a series of low, sharp orders that sent them into immediate, silent motion.

As he reached for the brass handle of the front door, Ava took a step forward. "Will you be home for dinner?"

The question hung in the air. Dominic stopped dead. He turned back slowly, his shadow stretching long across the floor. "And who, exactly, is making this dinner?"

"I am," she replied, meeting his gaze with a steadiness she had to fight to maintain.

Dominic didn't laugh, though the corner of his mouth mirrored the mocking twitch from the day before. He simply stared at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then, without a word of confirmation or denial, he turned and walked out. The thud of the door closing served as his only answer.

The moment the sound of his car faded into the distance, Ava didn't linger. She dashed back upstairs, her heart hammering against her ribs. She reached the door of Dominic’s private office and hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle. To her utter shock, the latch gave way with a soft, inviting click.

It was unlocked.

She slipped inside, the air in the room smelling of old paper, expensive tobacco, and him. It was a suffocating scent. She moved to the towering shelves, her fingers trembling as she began to pull files. She worked with a desperate, quiet speed, discarding reports on shipping lanes and labor disputes until her hand landed on a vellum folder.

It was a collection of estate documents, deeds and titles that carried the weight of a small empire. Her breath hitched. This was part of the leverage they needed.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen illuminating her pale face as she dialed the familiar number. The male voice on the other end answered on the first ring.

"I found something," Ava whispered, her eyes darting toward the door even though she knew she was alone. "Files on the estate holdings. Documents that go back decades."

"Keep them," the man ordered, his voice a low. "Hide them in your room. When we meet, you’ll bring them to me. But Ava, this is only the beginning. You need to get into that laptop of his. We need the bank passwords. We need to bleed him dry before he realizes the wolf is already in the house."

Ava looked at the sleek, silver laptop sitting on the desk, its dark screen reflecting her own hollow expression. "That will take time," she murmured. "He’s careful. But I’ll work on it. I’ll find a way."

"Do it quickly, princess," the man urged before the line went dead.

Ava tucked the phone away and realigned the remaining files, ensuring not a single folder was out of place. She clutched the stolen documents to her chest, slipping back to her room to bury them deep within the lining of one of her designer bags.

The adrenaline left her feeling hollow and restless. She made her way down to the kitchen, hoping to find some semblance of a normal life, but the sprawling, industrial space was a tomb. She opened the oversized refrigerator only to find it nearly empty, save for a few bottles of expensive water and a lonely jar of olives.

"So much for being a bachelor," she muttered, her voice echoing off. "The man lives like a ghost in his own palace. No foodstuffs, no life."

The emptiness of the house was beginning to feel like a physical weight. She needed to move, to breathe air that didn't belong to Dominic. She changed into a pair of slim fitting trousers and a casual knit top.

When she reached the garage, the security detail was already alert. One of the bodyguards, a man with a scar running through his eyebrow, stepped into her path as she approached the row of high-performance vehicles.

Ava didn't stop. She pointed a manicured finger at the sleek, blood-red Ferrari parked in the center of the bay. "The keys," she commanded. "Now."

The guard hesitated, his brow furrowing as he looked from the car to the woman in front of him. "Ma'am, the Boss gave strict orders. If you're leaving the grounds, I should call for a driver. It's for your safety."

Ava stepped into his personal space, her eyes flashing with a cold, bright fire. "Are you really going to argue with me? Do you want to explain to Dominic tonight why his wife is unhappy? Or perhaps you'd prefer to lose your job for forgetting who exactly I am in this house."

She held out her hand, palm up, her gaze never wavering. The guard wavered, the threat of her status clashing with his standing orders. Finally, with a reluctant grunt, he reached into the key cabinet and slapped the fob into her hand.

Ava didn't give him a chance to change his mind. She slid into the low driver's seat, the scent of expensive leather rising to meet her. She fired the engine, the roar of the Ferrari echoing through the garage like a predatory snarl. Without a backward glance, she shifted into gear and sped off, the tires screaming against the pavement as she vanished into the morning.