The Groom Who Ruined Me

Chapter 8

The lens of the security camera in the corner of the CEO suite blinked with a tiny, malevolent red light. Clara knew exactly who was watching that feed on the lower floors: Marcus Vance.

Inside the private office, Alec stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, his hands tucked loosely into his suit pockets. His back was to her, but his reflection in the glass showed a jaw so tightly clenched it looked carved from granite.

"Are you ready, Clara?" he asked, his voice low, lacking any of the theatrical cruelty he was about to unleash. "Once we start this, there is no stepping out of character until we leave the building. Marcus has to believe you have reached your absolute breaking point."

Clara took a deep, steadying breath, smoothing down the front of her plain black dress. She looked at his reflection, meeting his stormy gray eyes in the glass. "I'm ready, Alec. Let's give them a show."

Alec turned around. Instantly, his entire aura shifted. The cooperative partner vanished, replaced by the terrifying, unyielding tyrant the corporate world feared. He marched toward his office door and threw it open with enough force to make the glass panels rattle, stepping out into the main suite where the office cameras had a direct, unobstructed view.

"I don't care about your artistic sentimentality, Clara!" Alec roared, his voice booming across the executive floor. "Your father's legacy is gone. It belongs to Sinclair Enterprises now, and you will catalog those files exactly how I dictate!"

Clara followed him out, her heart hammering against her ribs, but she threw herself into the performance with everything she had. She slammed her hand down on her desk, causing a stack of folders to slide to the floor. "He is my father, Alec! You've taken our home, our money, and my freedom! I won't let you sit here and insult his life's work while I’m forced to serve you coffee!"

Through the glass perimeter walls of the executive floor, Clara could see several mid-level employees slowing down, their heads turning toward the noise. Down the hall, the elevator doors slid open, and Marcus Vance stepped out, a stack of audit reports in his hand. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes locking onto the escalating conflict.

The bait was in place.

Alec stepped directly into Clara’s space, his massive frame towering over her. He grabbed her by the upper arms—holding her firmly enough to look aggressive to the cameras, but carefully ensuring he didn't actually hurt her. "You will do exactly what you are told, wife," he sneered, his gray eyes flashing with an artificial, mocking malice that sent a very real shiver down her spine. "You signed the contract. You belong to this firm now. If you don't like it, you can watch your father get transferred back to a federal holding cell by tonight."

"I hate you," Clara choked out, the tears welling up in her hazel eyes entirely real now, fueled by the sheer stress of the dangerous game they were playing. She yanked her arms out of his grip, her voice cracking with raw emotional exhaustion. "I wish I had never signed that paper. I would rather rot in a cell myself than spend another day inside your cage."

"Then pack your things and get out of my sight," Alec growled, turning his back on her with a gesture of pure disgust. "You're useless to me today. My driver will take you back to the estate, and you will stay locked in the eastern wing until I decide what to do with you."

Clara didn't reply. She grabbed her handbag from the desk, intentionally knocking over a tray of pens to sell the frantic, broken nature of her exit. She brushed past Alec, running toward the executive elevators with her head down, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed into her hands.

As she reached the elevator bay, she deliberately slowed her pace, hitting the call button with a trembling finger.

Within five seconds, a shadow fell over her.

"Clara..."

She looked up, letting her tear-stained face show completely. Marcus Vance was standing right beside her, his expression a perfect mask of grandfatherly concern and deep, righteous anger on her behalf. He reached out, gently patting her shoulder. "My god, Clara. I saw the whole thing. He is a monster. He is going to completely break you if you stay here."

"I can't take it anymore, Uncle Marcus," Clara wept, leaning into the lie, her voice a fragile, desperate whisper as the elevator doors finally slid open. "He’s going to move my father back to the holding cell. He’s going to kill him."

Marcus stepped into the elevator cabin with her, pressing the button for the ground floor. As the doors shut, cutting off the view of the CEO suite, Marcus leaned closer to her ear. His sympathetic smile remained, but his voice carried a sharp, desperate urgency.

"There is a way to stop him, Clara. I told you," Marcus whispered, his eyes scanning the empty elevator car. "If you give me the location of your father's offline shipping ledger, I can bypass Sinclair's servers entirely. I can hand that data over to an independent regulatory board. They will freeze Alec’s corporate assets by tomorrow morning, and his marriage contract over you will be legally voided. You can save your father, Clara. Where did he hide it?"

Clara lowered her head, pretending to struggle with the decision. She squeezed her handbag tight against her chest, letting a long, agonizing pause stretch between them as the elevator descended.

"He... he didn't keep it at the office," Clara whispered, looking up at Marcus with wide, faux-naive eyes. "Before the police arrived, my father told me he hid the duplicate hard drive inside the old shipping vault at the abandoned Hastings dockyard. In the floor safe beneath the main terminal desk."

A sudden, sharp gleam of pure triumph flashed across Marcus’s eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses. The grandfatherly mask slipped for a split second, revealing the ruthless corporate predator underneath. "The abandoned dockyard... of course. It’s perfect."

He patted her hand one last time as the elevator dinged, arriving at the main lobby. "Go home and rest, Clara. Do not say a word to Alec. I will handle everything from here. By midnight, your nightmare will be over."

Clara nodded blankly, stepping out of the elevator and walking toward the waiting town car in the lobby driveway. But the moment she slid into the back seat and the tinted doors closed, cutting her off from the world, the tears stopped instantly.

She pulled her phone from her bag, her fingers flying across the screen as she dialed a private, encrypted number.

The line picked up on the very first ring.

"Did he take the bait?" Alec’s voice came through the speaker—low, steady, and completely devoid of the anger he had just faked upstairs.

"Hook, line, and sinker," Clara said, her jaw setting with a fierce, cold determination. "He thinks the ledger is in the floor safe at the old Hastings dockyard. He told me he’s going to handle it by midnight."

"Good," Alec murmured, and Clara could hear the dangerous, lethal smile in his tone. "My security team is already deploying to the perimeter of the docks. I'll pick you up from the estate at eleven o'clock sharp, Clara. Tonight, we finish this."