"Stuff about problems need to go away now. I'll be writing and publishing under my own pen name from now on, Dave. Be my agent."
Dave, on the other side of the line, didn't know how to bring justice to Sienna. I could hear him pacing, the tension and anger practically vibrating through the speaker.
"I'll arrange the advance for you, but you want to keep this a secret. What if your wife finds out?"
"I'll handle things here. Don't worry about them," I said, thinking about Sloane's promise not to betray me. Let's see what happens, I thought.
"I understand. Give me the necessary details. But if the Vanes find out about this?"
"They never knew anything about me, Dave. All they ever needed was profit, nothing else."
"How about I resign from here, too?"
"Stay there. Enjoy the double salary they provide, Dave. Be my support from the inside."
"Hahaha. Sure. That works well. You are terrifying, Sienna—that's why I like your way of working."
I looked at the camera monitor attached to the door to see who had arrived.
Standing in the hall was a woman. Tall. Ash-blonde hair pulled back so tight it looked painful. She wore a tailored white suit that cost more than a Honda Civic, holding a slim, silver clipboard. Her stiletto heel tapped impatiently against the marble.
She didn't look like an assassin. She looked like a corporate lawyer. Or a shark smelling blood in the water. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the intercom button.
Ignore her.
"Ms. Cross? I'm Veronica. I know you are here. I searched especially for you. We are all going crazy back there—open the door, Sloane."
The woman before me was talking about the kind of business mechanics don't have.
So, wife, you had secrets, too.
I looked at myself. I was in the perfect shape to play "poor." Since she didn't know me, I decided to let her talk to fuel my intel before opening.
When I pulled the door back, her face immediately filled with disgust. It was time to take the acting to its peak.
"Who are you?" she demanded. Her voice was like breaking glass—cold, brittle, and dangerous. "Where is Ms. Cross?"
"Ms. Cross?" I tilted my head, blinking rapidly like a confused owl. "You mean... the owner? She's not here. I'm just... uh... helping Sloane."
"Helping her?" She raised a perfectly sculpted, tattooed eyebrow. "With what?"
I blushed. A fake, masterful, deeply embarrassed blush. "You know. House-sitting stuff. She told me the owner was in Europe."
Veronica's lip curled into a sneer. She bought it hook, line, and sinker. She thought I was exactly what I appeared to be: someone cheap. People talk freely when they think the person opposite them is weak.
"I don't have time for this," she snapped, checking a diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist. "Listen to me, you little... whatever you are. Tell Sloane that the Board is furious. The acquisition of the Tokyo Tech firm is dead in the water until she signs the final authorizations."
Acquisition. Tokyo Tech. Final authorizations.
I filed the data away in my mental hard drive, analyzing her body language. She was stressed. The vein in her neck throbbed. This wasn't just a routine check-in; she was looking for a solution to a crisis.
"Like the board of directors of a company?" I asked, widening my eyes even more and acting clumsy, like a person who knew no better. "Is that... like... a surfing thing? In the ocean?"
Veronica looked like she wanted to reach through the crack in the door and strangle me. "Are you stupid? The Board of Directors! Cross Industries!"
She tossed a thick envelope toward me with force.
"Just give her this," she hissed, leaning in close. I could smell her perfume—something sharp, floral, and aggressively expensive. "And tell her if she doesn't show up to the gala tonight, her grandmother will cut her off completely. Do you understand? No more funding. No more games."
"Gala tonight," I repeated slowly, clutching the packet against my chest. "Grandma is mad. Got it. I'll tell her."
"Ugh." She rolled her eyes, turning on her heel. The red soles of her designer heels clacked sharply. "Wow. So the company is about to go hands-up, but Sloane is here on a vacation?"
I watched her through the crack in the door. Just as she vanished, my innocent mask vanished with her. I slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt. Click. Clack.
I looked down at the envelope in my hands. It was thick. Heavy cardstock. Stamped in stark red ink across the seal: CONFIDENTIAL: EYES ONLY.
I walked back into the living room, the silence of the penthouse feeling entirely different now. It didn't feel like a sanctuary anymore. It felt like a stage.
"So," I whispered to the empty, sunlit air. "My wife isn't a mechanic."
I tossed the heavy envelope onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a satisfying thud.
"She's the missing CEO of Cross Industries. She's dodging a multi-billion dollar tech acquisition. And she's in deep trouble with her terrifying grandmother."
A slow, wicked smile spread across my face. I had married a ghost. A phantom billionaire who was running from her own empire, just like I was running from mine.
"Well, Ms. Cross," I said, walking back into the study and dropping into the massive leather chair. I woke the laptop, pulling the document back onto the center screen. "Looks like I'm not the only one wearing a mask."
I highlighted the title I had typed just an hour ago: THE MECHANIC'S WIFE. I hit delete.
I typed a new one, the keys clacking like a drumbeat.
THE BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET
And then, I started to write. I let the adrenaline of the encounter bleed directly through my fingertips. I wrote about a woman hiding in plain sight, and the woman who saw right through her grease-stained camouflage. Because if there was one thing I knew after surviving the Vane family, it was that the truth was always stranger—and vastly more profitable—than fiction.