I paid off my husband’s secret gambling debts to save our reputation. The next day, he moved his parents into our penthouse and told me to sleep in the guest room. “This is their house now; you’re just the help,” he sneered. I didn’t say a word. I just called the building’s management. “I’m terminating the lease on Unit 402 immediately.” As the movers started taking the furniture—which I also owned—my husband turned pale. “You can’t do this!” I smiled: “Watch me.”

Chapter 1: The Reputation Ransom

The skyline of Manhattan was a jagged line of diamonds pressed against the black velvet of the night, but inside Unit 402, the air was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive bourbon and the sharp, metallic tang of cold sweat. I sat behind my mahogany desk, the wood polished to a mirror shine, watching my husband.

Mark was shaking. It was a rhythmic, pathetic tremor that made his silk tie dance against his chest. He looked smaller than I remembered, his face buried in his hands as he confessed to the markers he couldn’t cover. Two million dollars. Gone into the pockets of men who didn’t care about his family name or my social standing.

“They’ll go to the press, Cassidy. My family name, your father’s legacy—it’ll all be trash by Monday,” he whispered, his voice cracking like dry parchment. “These aren’t bank loans. These are people who handle debts with headlines and… worse.”