Not Your Desperate Charity Case

The most rebellious thing I had ever done in my twenty-four years of life was pack my trust fund into a duffel bag and elope with Brooks when his familys empire collapsed.

When the rest of Manhattans elite turned their backs on him, I was the only one who bet my life that Brooks would rise from the ashes.

Three grueling years later, my gamble paid off. Brooks went from swinging a hammer on construction sites to becoming the most feared, ruthless new blood in New York real estate. And as his power grew, so did his indulgence of me. He spoiled me rotten. He let me be demanding, temperamental, and wildly uncompromising.

No matter how much of a scene I caused, Brooks always wore the same patient, devastatingly fond smile.

Everyone in our circle whispered the same thing: Bess Kensington traded three short years of poverty for the perfect, doting golden retriever of a husband.

Until the florist appeared.

It started on our anniversary. I caught her delivering a custom bouquet to our penthousea blatant, inappropriate overstepand I retaliated by having my people completely trash her little flower shop.

I expected Brooks to come home, wrap his arms around me, and coax me out of my bad mood like he always did.

Except, this time, he didnt.

Instead, his phone went straight to voicemail. He vanished into the city, leaving me to watch as paparazzi photos of him looking intimately close with the florist trended on every gossip site.

The media circus descended on our Tribeca penthouse, swarming the gates with blinding camera flashes.

It took every ounce of my leverage to slip past the blockade. I was a messhair windblown, coat hastily thrown onbut I was practically vibrating with rage as I marched toward the address my assistant had just texted me. I was ready to tear Brooks apart.

But just as I raised my hand to push open the heavy oak door of the private VIP lounge, the muffled sound of laughter stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Come on, Brooks, aren't you going to head back and grovel?" a male voice sneered. "Aren't you terrified the Mrs. is going to burn down half of Manhattan again?"

"Seriously, man," another chimed in. "Smashing cars, torching properties, and last time she literally pointed a finger in your face in front of the press and accused you of having a fetish for cheap knockoffs..."

The voice abruptly cut off, realizing hed crossed a line. The room fell into a suffocating silence.

Then, the heavy thud of a whiskey glass hitting the mahogany table echoed through the door, shattering the quiet.

Brooks let out a low, dark chuckle. His voice dripped with a terrifying, casual mockery. "Well, who could possibly be as noble and pure as the great Bess Kensington?"

"She didn't want a ring. She didn't want a wedding. She put her own father in the hospital just to leave her Boston castle and squeeze into a shitty Brooklyn walk-up with a penniless loser like me."

My breath caught in my throat.

"Paige noticed my migraines acting up and brought me a bundle of lavender to calm my nerves. For that, Bess goes on a warpath and calls Paige a cheap knockoff. So what does that make Bess?"

He paused, and the silence stretched tight enough to snap.

"A desperate charity case who had to buy a husband?"

The voice that had spent the last week whispering sweet, comforting things into my ear in the dark was now delivering the most lethal, agonizing blow I had ever felt.

I froze, paralyzed in the dimly lit hallway.

Inside, the temperature of the room seemed to plummet. After a long, painful beat, someone tried to nervously laugh it off.

"Brooks, man, you're just blowing off steam... Everyone knows Bess came to the city alone, used her trust fund to help you build your empire from the ground up. You guys are New York's golden couple..."

"I'm not blowing off steam."

I could picture his profile in the dim light, the cherry-red glow of his cigarette illuminating the sheer exhaustion in his eyes.

"I'm just tired."

"Because of that two million dollars she gave me, I dated her for three years, married her for four. I have loved her for seven years, and I have catered to her tantrums for seven years."

"Every time we fight, no matter who is right or wrong, I'm the one who has to swallow my pride and beg for forgiveness."

"She gets jealous because a partner's daughter looks at me too long at a gala, and I have to instantly terminate a hundred-million-dollar contract, eating the penalty fees."

"She wants a specific pastry from a bakery in Brooklyn at two in the morning, and I drive through a torrential downpour to get it, even though I haven't slept in three days..."

I heard him take a long, deep drag of his cigarette. When he exhaled, his words were ice.

"I'm human. I get exhausted."

He shifted, his voice softening into something unrecognizable. "The day I collapsed from exhaustion on the street... Paige was the one who got me to the hospital. She stayed by my bed for two days and two nights, barely sleeping, just massaging my temples to keep the pain away."

"At home, I am always the caretaker. I am always the one serving. But with Paige... for the first time in a long time, I actually felt the warmth of a home. I felt like I could finally breathe."

Those quiet, simple words slammed into my chest like a wrecking ball, shattering my heart into dust.

I couldn't hear whatever was said next. The roaring in my ears drowned it all out.

Winter in New York had never felt this brutal.

It wasn't until I stumbled back into the dark, empty penthouse like a ghost that I realized my hands and feet were entirely numb from the cold.

I didn't turn on the lights.

In the shadows, I just stood there, staring at the things that were supposed to be the indisputable proof of our epic love story. The framed photos of our multi-million-dollar wedding that had broken magazine records. The staggering, museum-quality diamonds on my vanity. The antique lovers' lock we had flown to Paris to attach to a bridge, him kneeling on the cobblestones...

The very first thing Brooks did when he finally made his billions was pour it all over me, trying to repay everything he felt he owed me, a thousand times over.

Even I, a girl raised in old-money Boston, thought it was too much.

But back then, Brooks had just kissed my lips, his eyes full of fierce devotion. Bess, you suffered so much for me. I will never, ever feel like Ive given you enough. Do you understand?

Im going to spoil you until youre even more of a princess than when I met you. If you get jealous, scream at me. If youre mad, throw a tantrum. With me, you can be entirely, selfishly yourself. Because I will always coax you back. I will always be on your side. Understood?

I could still feel the phantom warmth of that moment.

So, for four years of marriage, I leaned on that promise. I leaned on I will always be on your side. Like any girl who believes she is unconditionally loved, I made demands. I threw my little fits.

I never imagined that four years later... Brooks would tell a room full of people that he was tired. That he had found the warmth of "home" in another woman.

And that, to defend Paige, he would reduce my sacrifice to a joke.

What does that make her? A desperate charity case who had to buy a husband?

When the Boston elites sneered those exact words at me years ago, it hadn't hurt at all.

But hearing them from Brookss mouth felt like someone was physically tearing my chest open.

Seven years of profound, earth-shattering love, rotting away overnight.

Fine. If that was how he felt, I would set him free.

The lump in my throat finally dissolved into a hollow ache. I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. My voice was eerily light.

"Have the lawyers draft divorce papers. And book me a flight."

"Next month. I'm going back to Boston."

Hanging up the phone felt like severing the last vital artery keeping me alive.

I didn't sleep a single second that night.

My assistant worked fast. The divorce papers were in my hands by the next morning. Per her usual routine, she began reading off Brooks's itinerary:

"Mr. Solomon signed the lease on a premium retail space in Soho for Ms. Paige, as compensation for her ruined flower shop."

"He also moved her family into a private estate in the Hamptons, and wired them three hundred thousand dollars for living expenses."

She hesitated, glancing nervously at my face. "The trending topics on Twitter... we can't get them taken down. The media is running wild with the narrative that..."

"That Mr. Solomon treats this Ms. Paige... differently."

My hand trembled involuntarily, the tip of my Montblanc pen leaving an ugly, bleeding ink stain on the pristine divorce agreement.

...We couldn't get them taken down?

Once, a tabloid had printed a mild, unverified rumor about me. Brooks had it scrubbed from the internet in three minutes. The owner of that publication was currently facing federal charges.

But now, my name was being dragged through the mud, branded a "hysterical, jealous shrew" for three days straight, and nothing was being done.

I knew exactly whose tacit permission allowed it.

The air in the room suddenly felt thick, pressing down on my lungs until I couldn't breathe.

"I understand," I said. My nails dug into my palms until the pain grounded me, keeping my face perfectly composed. "You don't need to report on them anymore."

My assistant blinked in surprise, then quietly nodded.

When the room fell silent again, I sat alone in my chair for a very long time. Finally, I stood up and ordered a car to the address of Paige's new flower shop.

Today was her grand opening.

The storefront was dripping in lavish floral installations, the sidewalk bustling with high-end clientele. Compared to the tiny, run-down shack I had destroyed, this place was a palace.

Through the crowd, I spotted Brooks immediately.

The man who had been giving me the silent treatment for days was standing beside Paige, his face thoroughly relaxed, looking at her with a gentle affection. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Paige looked up at him with eyes full of utter devotion. She was just about to loop her arm through his when she spotted me walking toward them.

There wasn't a flicker of guilt in her eyes. Instead, she played the perfectly understanding angel, tugging gently at Brooks's sleeve. "Brooks, Bess is here. You should go home with her. I can handle things here."

Then, she stepped behind the counter, pulled out a massive, expensive bouquet of fresh red Juliet roses, and offered them to me. "Bess, I'm so sorry. I was so thoughtless last time, forgetting to send an arrangement to you as well. Its my fault you misunderstood."

"I made this one specially for you. Please, don't be mad at Brooks anymore."

Her eyes were wide, clear, and brimming with the resilient, scrappy innocence of a girl from the bottom pulling herself up.

It was the perfect performance. It made me look like the cruel, unhinged villain.

I looked down at the flowers with dead eyes, then casually tossed the entire bouquet into the nearby trash can. "Sorry. I don't like cheap things."

Before the words fully left my mouth, my wrist was seized in a brutal grip.

"Bess," Brooks hissed, his voice dropping low, practically vibrating with exhaustion. "Today is important to Paige. Can you please stop throwing a tantrum for one second?"

A bitter taste flooded my mouth. I gritted my teeth, forced a smile, and shoved the legal folder into his chest. "Sure. Sign this, and I'll leave right now."

Brooks frowned, looking down at the document. "Bess, what game are you playing now?"

"No game." I paused. "Every time we fight, don't you always buy me a gift to coax me back?"

"This time, I want this."

"Sign it, and I'll never throw a tantrum again."

My voice was dead calm. A flicker of genuine shock crossed Brooks's eyes.

But before he could open his mouth, chaos erupted outside the glass doors.

Paparazzi, tipped off by God knows who, swarmed the entrance, pressing against the glass. Paige was jostled by the crowd, letting out a frightened gasp.

Brooks's attention snapped away from me instantly. Without even looking at what he was signing, he scrawled his name on the paper, threw it back at my chest, and lunged forward to pull Paige into the protective shelter of his arms.

"Security!" he roared.

He was so panicked, so hyper-focused on her, that he didn't even notice I had been swallowed by the same aggressive mob of reporters.

The camera flashes were blinding. In the suffocating crush of bodies, someone shoved me hard from behind. I lost my footing and slammed violently onto the pavement.

A sharp, agonizing pain shot up my spine. Instinctively, I cried out.

"Brooks"

But my voice was swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

Because right in front of my eyes, Brooks was carefully shielding Paige as he guided her into the back of his waiting Maybach.

He shut the door without ever looking back.

The car sped away, not hesitating for a single second.

Brooks left me behind.

Four years ago, on our wedding day, he had looked me in the eye and solemnly vowed:

Bess, as long as I am breathing, I will never let you suffer a single indignity.

With me, you will always be first.

Four years. That was all it took for his forever to expire.

A wave of crushing, acidic grief finally caught up to me. Biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, I forced myself to stand up despite the searing pain in my back. Ignoring the relentless, shouting reporters, I practically fled the scene.

When I finally made it back to the penthouse, the tears broke free.

I sat in the dark living room for hours, numb, until the sound of the front door unlocking broke the silence.

Brooks walked in. He spotted me curled up on the sofa, and then his eyes snagged on the blood seeping through the back of my blouse. His brow furrowed in instant alarm.

"Bess, what happened to your back?"

He crossed the room in three massive strides, turning his fury on the maids hovering in the hallway. "My wife is bleeding and none of you thought to call me?! Get the first aid kit, now!"

He turned back to me, his eyes swimming with what looked like genuine heartbreak. "Did you fall outside the shop? Why didn't you call out for me"

"I did call out for you. Did you hear me?"

My voice was completely hollow. Brooks froze. A flash of guilt and panic bled into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bess. It was chaos, I... I guess I didn't hear you..."

He rubbed his temples, his voice dropping into a low, placating murmur. "I'll have the PR team kill all the photos from today. Bess... let's just turn the page on this fight. Please."

"Arthur invited us to dinner tomorrow night. Probably to discuss renewing the development contract. I had a few dresses sent up for you. Go pick one out, okay?"

He waved a hand, and the staff immediately carried in several velvet garment bags from Oscar de la Renta and Dior.

I stared at the pristine, luxurious fabrics for a long, long time. And then, for the first time in our entire relationship, I didn't argue. I didn't yell.

I just quietly said, "Okay."

Arthur was an old friend of my parents in Boston. When I was cut off, he had quietly looked out for me in New York.

There were a few things I needed to tell him anyway.

The dinner was held in the private dining room of a five-star hotel.

For the first hour, the atmosphere was perfectly pleasant. Brooks played the part beautifully, constantly refilling my wine, offering me the best cuts of meatanyone looking would think he was the husband of the year.

But halfway through the meal, his phone began vibrating frantically.

Brooks answered it. I didn't know what the person on the other end said, but the color completely drained from his face. He muttered a quick, tense "Excuse me," and practically sprinted out of the room.

I didn't even turn to watch him go. I gently placed my silverware down, looked across the table, and met Arthurs eyes.

"Arthur, when the contract with Solomon Enterprises expires next month, you don't need to renew it."

"Brooks and I are getting a divorce. Next month... I'm moving back to Boston."

A heavy, stunned silence fell over the private room.

It took Arthur a long minute to finally ask, his voice thick with caution, "Are you sure?"

When I nodded, he let out a massive sigh. But the look in his eyes wasn't pityit was profound relief.

"Bess, thank God. You've finally woken up."

"The only reason I handed him that flagship development project years ago was because I couldn't bear to see you living in squalor. I wanted to give him a ladder. If it weren't for you pulling strings in the background, you think he'd be sitting at the top of Manhattan in three years?"

"If you go back to Boston, your parents will be overjoyed."

Thinking of my father, my nose stung.

When I eloped, my fathers blood pressure spiked so high he was hospitalized. He had refused to see me ever since.

When I went back, I would get on my knees and beg for his forgiveness.

Arthur had another engagement and had to leave early. I had just walked him to the elevators when the hotel manager suddenly rushed up to me. He looked like he was about to cry.

"Mrs. Solomon! Thank God! Your husband is in the lobby beating a man to death and security can't pull him off! You have to come!"

My stomach dropped. I immediately followed him down to the ground floor.

A massive crowd had already formed in the grand lobby. Following their terrified gazes, I saw Brooks in the center of the marble floor.

He was in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit, but his movements were feral, terrifyingly violent. He had a man pinned against the decorative pillar, his fist coming down in brutal, merciless arcs.

The only other time in his life Brooks had ever resorted to violence was four years ago, when a drunk investor cornered me and tried to grope me at a gala.

But even then, Brooks had only hit the man a few times to send a message. Right now, he looked like he was genuinely trying to kill someone.

My hands balled into fists. I rushed forward, trying to grab his arm. "Brooks, stop! You're going to kill him"

The next second, my arm was violently shoved away.

The force was so brutal I lost my footing entirely. I flew backward, my spine slamming hard into the marble wall. My unhealed scrapes from the pavement flared into blinding, white-hot agony. My vision went black for a second.

But before I could even catch my breath, a slender figure sprinted past me. She threw herself onto the enraged man, her voice trembling in desperate, sobbing pleas.

"Brooks, please, that's enough! He just touched me a few times... you've already defended me, please, stop!"

Paiges voice was wet with tears, her eyes wide and terrified.

It was like a spell was broken. Brooks instantly snapped out of his blind rage. He dropped the bloody man, turned, and pulled Paige fiercely into his chest, raising a gentle hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"It's okay. You're safe now. Don't be afraid."

I leaned against the wall, trying to stay upright, feeling pathetic and utterly humiliated. The sight of them clinging to each other felt like a physical slap to the face.

Just then, Brooks's head of security pushed through the crowd. He marched straight up to Brooks. "Sir. We found out what happened."

"The client who hired Ms. Paige to deliver flowers to this specific hotel room... was your wife."

In a fraction of a second, the tender relief in Brooks's eyes warped into pure, unfiltered disgust and rage.

He lunged toward me, his hand locking around my wrist like a vice. "Bess, how could you be so vile?!"

"Four years ago, you were assaulted at a party by this exact man! And you purposely hired Paige to deliver flowers to his room?! What is the difference between that and feeding her to the wolves?! If I hadn't gotten here in time, do you have any idea what he would have done to her?!"

"Apologize to her!"

The pain radiating from my wrist was agonizing. The sudden, psychotic accusation hit me so hard my brain short-circuited. But survival instinct kicked in, and I violently yanked my arm out of his grasp.

"I didn't order any flowers! I have no idea what you're talking about! Why the hell would I apologize?!"

Brooks had spent the last four years treating me like I was made of spun glass. He had never, not once, raised his voice at me.

But now, he was screaming at me in the middle of a crowded hotel lobby, crucifying me for a crime I didn't commit.

My eyes burned with a terrifying heat. I raised my chin, projecting my voice to hide the fact that my heart was bleeding out on the marble floor.

"If I wanted to destroy her, I wouldn't use some cowardly, backdoor setup! Don't you dare slander me! Bring out the person who placed the order and let's see the proof!"

The tension in the lobby was suffocating. No one dared to breathe.

The silence was broken by the sound of Paiges knees hitting the marble floor.

She collapsed, tears streaming down her face, looking up at me with absolute submission. "Bess, I'm so sorry... it's my fault, I didn't read the delivery slip carefully. It's not your fault, you don't have to apologize. I just beg you, please don't fight with Brooks over me anymore..."

"Brooks's knuckles are bleeding. Please, just let me take him to the hospital..."

Every ounce of murderous tension in Brooks's body melted away at her words. He reached down and gently pulled Paige up, looking at her with a mix of profound heartbreak and... peace.

"Paige, after everything that just happened to you, how are you still only thinking about me?"

He let out a heavy, disappointed sigh and turned back to me. His eyes were dead. "You're right. It's not your fault, Bess."

"It's my fault. I spoiled you until you became a monster."

"If you won't say the words, then get down on your knees and show Paige you're sorry. Do that, and we can forget this ever happened."

For a second, all the sound in the world rushed out of my ears. I stared at him, my lips barely moving. "...You want me to get on my knees?"

I was Bess Kensington. People spent their entire lives trying to get into the same room as me. And he wanted me to kneel on a public floor for his mistress?

I turned on my heel to walk away. But before I could take a step, two of Brooks's massive security guards grabbed my shoulders and forced me violently to the floor.

My knees slammed into the marble. The movement ripped my back wound open again, and a choked, pathetic gasp of pain escaped my lips.

Brooks didn't even flinch. His voice was completely detached. "Keep her down. She's going to bow her head to Paige three times. Gently, though. My wife hates pain."

"Brooks!" I screamed, my voice shaking with raw terror and fury, looking up at him from the floor. "I told you I didn't do it! Are you really going to humiliate me like this for her?!"

But Brooks just turned his head away, letting his guards physically force my head down toward the floor. One. Two. Three.

It didn't hurt. But it felt like my spine, my pride, my very soul was being snapped in half.

The tiny, fleeting smirk that crossed Paige's lips before she hid her face in Brooks's chest was the knife twisting in the wound.

When it was over, Brooks reached down and pulled my violently trembling body off the floor. He raised a thumb to wipe away the tear that had escaped my eye. "Bess, Paige was almost assaulted, and all I asked you to do was apologize. Why are you crying?"

I slapped his hand away. Without a single word, I turned and walked out the door.

The stares of the onlookers felt like battery acid on my skin. I didn't take a full breath until I was locked inside the penthouse.

A second later, my phone lit up with texts from an unknown number.

The tone was polite, dripping with fake pity and undisguised triumph.

[Bess, honestly, its pathetic watching you try to hold onto a marriage like this.]

[A powerful man doesnt want a hysterical princess he constantly has to coddle. He wants a safe harbor. Someone who gives him peace.]

[You and Brooks just aren't a good fit.]

The texts were followed by a photo. It was Paige, leaning over the console of his Maybach, carefully cleaning the blood off Brooks's knuckles.

Brooks was looking down at her. His eyes were soft, completely unguarded, filled with a deep sense of... belonging.

It was a look I had never, ever seen him give me.

The gaping hole in my chest finally went cold. The freezing wind blew straight through me.

If this were yesterday, I would have fired back a text that would make her bleed.

But tonight, I just blocked the number.

Then, I went into the bedroom and pulled down my suitcases.

I started packing. I boxed up my life and scheduled the shipments.

I watched as the penthouse, once so warm and full of our history, slowly turned into a sterile, echoing museum. I took a hammer to the massive custom wedding portrait that hung in the foyer, shattered the glass, and threw it in the dumpster.

The piece of my heart that belonged to Brooks was finally, permanently, empty.

A few days later, my assistant rushed into the apartment, her face pale with panic.

"Bess," she stammered, her hands shaking. "I was running the audits for the quarter, and I found a massive anomaly in your personal accounts..."

"The private trust fund your grandfather left you... a massive sum was withdrawn a few days ago. It was wired directly into Paiges bank account. The authorized signer was... Mr. Solomon."

"We tried to claw it back, but the money has already been spent. Here are the statements..."

It felt like a bomb went off inside my skull. The ringing was so loud I couldn't move.

That trust fund was the very last gift my grandfather ever gave me before he died. He was terrified that I would be left destitute if my rebellion failed, so he set that money aside, legally ironclad, to ensure I would never go hungry.

How dared Brooks touch that money?!

I snatched the bank statements from her hands, my eyes flying down the itemized list, my breathing turning shallow and ragged. My hands were shaking so hard the paper rattled.

The ledger was meticulously detailed.

Paige had used my grandfather's money to buy two luxury condos for her parents. She bought them first-class tickets to Europe. And interspersed between the massive wire transfers... were charges from a pharmacy.

For several boxes of premium condoms.

The timestamps were from exactly one week ago.

The exact same night I was forced onto my knees to beg for her forgiveness.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what they had done.

While I was lying awake in the dark, stripped of my dignity and sobbing until I couldn't breathe, Brooks had raided my dead grandfathers money to set up his mistress, and then fucked her in a hotel bed.

A wave of nausea so violent it blurred my vision seized me. I sprinted to the powder room and threw up until I was dry-heaving over the marble toilet.

My assistant was crying now, pulling out her phone to call a doctor, but I grabbed her wrist.

"Don't..." I gasped, my voice unrecognizable, laced with a venom I didn't know I possessed. "Call the lawyers. Draft the lawsuit. Every single penny of that money is coming back to me. If she spent it, we seize the properties. Leave them with nothing."

I would rather burn the city down than let Paige keep a single cent of my grandfather's legacy.

My assistant nodded vigorously and ran out to make the calls.

I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against the cool marble wall until the violent shaking in my limbs finally stopped.

When I opened my eyes, they were perfectly clear.

I was flying back to Boston in a few days. I had too much to do. I couldn't let my schedule be derailed by this filth.

The next afternoon, I drove myself to Bergdorf Goodman. I needed to pick out a few placatory gifts for my parents.

The boutique managers fawned over me, offering champagne and private suites. By the time I selected a few vintage watches and a Birkin, my mood had marginally improved.

Just as I handed the associate my card, my phone rang.

It was Brooks.

"Bess!" His voice was a whip-crack of pure, unadulterated fury. The polite, exhausted mask was completely gone. "You filed a lawsuit against Paige?! You're demanding ten times the damages?!"

"Your debt collectors smashed her new shop to pieces and poured red paint all over her parents' front door! Paige is missing! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Listening to him scream, I felt a strange, chilling sense of peace. In fact, a dark spike of pleasure shot through me.

"Brooks, what exactly is the problem with me legally recovering my stolen property? Frankly, I'm disgusted she even touched the money my grandfather left me."

"Bess, you are completely out of your mind." Brookss voice turned deadly cold. "Paige was severely traumatized because you set her up at that hotel. I transferred that money to her as compensation on your behalf"

"Compensation?" I let out a sharp, genuine laugh. My nails bit into my palms. "What gives you the right to use my money to compensate your whore? Brooks, I must have been blind to ever look at you."

"If it wasn't for my two million dollars, you'd be dead in a gutter somewhere! You and that pathetic little charity case are made for each other!"

"Sign the divorce papers! I'm leaving you both to rot together!"

The words hung in the air. On the other end of the line, there was absolute, dead silence.

I could hear the hitch in Brookss breathing. "...Bess, are you using the D-word to threaten me again?"

A dark, bitter laugh escaped him. "Fine. Bess, you crossed the line this time. I am done going soft on you."

The line went dead.

A few minutes later, the boutique manager returned. She looked terrified, holding my platinum card as if it were radioactive. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Solomon, but... all of your accounts have been frozen. The card declined."

"The total is four point eight million. How... how would you like to proceed?"

...My cards were frozen?

I instantly knew what he had done. I gritted my teeth and dialed Brookss number.

Once. Twice. Three times... Nineteen calls in total. Not a single one connected.

As the ringing echoed in the quiet VIP suite, the obsequious smile on the manager's face slowly melted away.

By the time the final call went to voicemail, her expression had turned to ice.

"Ma'am, the items have already been custom-wrapped and cannot be restocked. If you are unable to provide payment, I have no choice but to contact the authorities for attempted fraud."

I was taken away in the back of an NYPD cruiser.

I fought, I screamed, I threatened to sue every single officer in the precinct. It wasn't until the arresting officer in the passenger seat turned around and looked at me with dead eyes that I stopped.

"Mrs. Solomon, we already contacted your husband."

"He informed us that everything you have to your name was provided by him. And since you are so insistent on a divorce, he wants you to see exactly what happens to you..."

"When you leave him."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, completely extinguishing the fire in my lungs.

Brooks knew I had been arrested. He had orchestrated it.

...Because I dared to take back the money he stole for his mistress, he froze me out and let me be thrown into a holding cell.

A wave of despair, darker and deeper than anything I had ever known, dragged me under. My arms and legs felt like lead. I couldn't move.

I spent three days in lockup. It was hell on earth.

A pampered, blue-blooded heiress in a designer coat sitting in a general population holding cell in Manhattan was a walking target.

I was shoved, cornered, and beaten. The pathetic, stale meals they handed me were tossed into the filthy toilet by the other inmates while I watched, starving.

After three days, my lawyers finally managed to post bail.

I thought the nightmare was over.

But the second I stepped out of the precinct doors, two massive men grabbed me, threw me into the back of a black SUV, and locked the doors.

An hour later, I was dragged out and dumped into the dirt.

I looked up. I was standing in the middle of a sprawling, magnificent field of red roses.

I recognized the head of Brookss security detail standing over me. The dam finally broke.

"What the hell does he want from me?!" I screamed, my voice cracking, tears of absolute panic and exhaustion blurring my vision. "Wasn't three days of torture in a cell enough?!"

I was trembling violently in the freezing wind.

The security guard looked at me with zero pity. "Ma'am. Mr. Solomon says that since you are responsible for destroying Ms. Paige's flower shop for the second time, you are to personally pick nine hundred and ninety-nine roses to send to her as an apology."

...He wanted me to pick nine hundred and ninety-nine roses? By myself?

I stared at the guard, my ch