He Ordered My Death, Then Autopsied My Body.
The Sterling Empire ran on my work, though no one outside the family knew it. I built its strategies from the background while its CEO took the public credit. I was also his hidden wife, and Declan served as the city’s chief medical examiner. For five years, he trusted my judgment at home and at the company. Then his new assistant, Mia, began feeding him stories about me. He stopped asking for proof. When my kidnappers called him for money, Mia was standing close enough to whisper in his ear. Declan had one hour to decide whether I lived.
The men took me two blocks from Sterling Tower, in the middle of the day, with my coffee still steaming on the café table. There were three of them. They were professionals — no masks, no shouting, just a van and a hand over my mouth. I knew the type; I had been building the Sterling Empire's strategies for five years, and I had read every file that crossed my husband's desk. I had never once thought I would be a file myself. They put a hood over my head and broke my wrist before the van moved. I heard the bone go — a sound like a dry branch — and I screamed into the cloth until my throat gave out. One of them laughed and told me to be quiet. The other said, "Call the husband." I was still kneeling on a concrete floor when they dialed. The hood smelled of dust and gasoline, and I could
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