Ex wife Revenge on Ex husband

Shadows of Doubt

The she shivered as she read the text. Hello, Elena. The number could not be traced, but the message reeked of Richard’s self-satisfied arrogance. Upon reading, she deleted it almost instantly. Had he always known? Or was this Vivian's doing?

The back office of the gallery was quiet save for the hum of the AC. Marco knocked and poked his head inside. "The caterers are waiting for a final headcount; also, someone left this at the front desk," he said, handing her a small black box.

Inside the box rested a memory stick and a note: For old times' sake.-E.

E. Elena's childhood nickname. Only one person had used that for her.

Her brother, Ethan.

But Ethan was dead. Or was dead, or so she thought.

Clara's apartment was a shrine to Clara Hart-modernist furniture, abstract art, no traces of Elena. Yet the USB felt like a branding iron in her pocket. She drove to the white elephant of a safe house on the periphery of the city, a remnant of her days pre-fake death.

Dust hung over the desktop as she powered it on with the USB. One video file.

Ethan's face filled the screen, looking gaunt, pale. Timestamp: two days ago.

"Elena, if you are watching this, I'm sorry. I had to fake my death to protect you. But Richard...he has people watching. The AI project he is building? It is not just software. It is a weapon. He is using our old research- our algorithms- to manipulate elections. And he is tied to the Lockes. Vivian's family is not just funding him; they are partners."

Clara felt her breath hitch. Their algorithms. The code she had developed all those years ago that Richard had stolen and turned into a weapon.

"Meet me at the docks. Warehouse 12. Midnight. Come alone."

The video faded into static.

The abandoned warehouse stood as a skeletal figure against the moonlit bay. Clara's heels echoed against the rusted floor as she stepped in.

"You came."

Out of the dark, a figure emerged. Not Ethan. Richard.

"You son of a b***h," she spat, fists clenched. "Where's Ethan?"

Richard smirked, his tailored suit looking immaculate even against the dirt. "Ethan's alive. For now. But you, Elena, have been sloppy. The gallery? The 'Clara' act? Cute. But Vivian's onto you. And I'd hate for your brother to—disappear again."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you started the game." He stepped closer, his cologne—sandalwood and power—filling her nostrils. "You wanted revenge? Fine. But we play by my rules now."

He threw her a burner phone. "Your next exhibit? You'll showcase my AI's 'art.' A little project to keep you busy. And if you refuse..." He nodded towards a security feed on his phone: Ethan, tied to a chair, a g*n to his temple.

Clara felt her pulse roaring. "You monster."

"And you still love me." His grin widened. "Admit it."