Chapter 5 - FORTY-EIGHT HOURS TO LOSE EVERYTHING
Marcus placed a folder on my table.
“We have recordings and copies to expose Victor,” he said. “But the original financial ledgers are still missing.”
“Where are they?” I asked.
Dorian’s expression darkened.
“In a private storage office Victor controls.”
“Then get them.”
“We're working with investigators to secure them,” Marcus said. “But there's another problem. Dorian has the original signed shipment manifests. Victor wants those, too. Together, the ledgers and manifests could show exactly who authorized each transaction.”
He opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph of a warehouse.
I recognized it immediately.
“That’s the building Dorian’s father owned.”
Dorian nodded.
“It was supposed to be sold last year.”
“Victor blocked the sale,” Marcus said. “He claimed there were outstanding contractual issues.”
He spread several documents across the table.
“The records don't just expose Victor. They show how he's been moving money through companies that still belong to Dorian.”
I looked at my husband.
“If you give those to prosecutors, you could lose everything.”
“Yes.”
“Your businesses.”
“Some of them.”
“Your home.”
“Possibly.”
“Your freedom?”
He didn’t look away.
“That’s possible too.”
I stared at him.
A year earlier, Dorian would have burned an entire city block before willingly surrendering control of his empire.
Now he sat in my cheap apartment, discussing the possibility of losing it.
“Why?” I whispered.
He studied me.
“Because I finally understand what my father never did.”
“What?”
“That owning everything means nothing if you destroy the people you love to keep it.”
My eyes filled.
I wanted to believe him.
But belief was no longer enough.
“Then prove it,” I said.
And Dorian nodded.
The next morning brought a new message from Victor.
Midnight. The old Cross warehouse. Bring the original shipment records. Come alone.
Attached was a photograph of Mrs. Whitcomb entering her hotel.
My blood turned cold.
He was still watching.
Dorian read the message without speaking.
Then he called his attorney.
Within two hours, the evidence Marcus had collected was being reviewed by investigators.
The prosecutor’s office agreed to coordinate the next steps, but nobody promised Dorian immunity.
That frightened me more than anything.
For the first time, he could not buy, threaten, or negotiate his way out of the consequences.
At eleven that night, he came to my apartment before leaving for the warehouse.
He wore a dark coat over a charcoal sweater.
No expensive watch.
No visible weapon.
He looked less like a feared crime boss and more like the man who used to make me pancakes on Sunday mornings.
“I need to tell you something,” he said.
I stood beside the kitchen counter.
“Okay.”
“If tonight goes badly—”
“Don’t.”
“Please.”
I fell silent.
He took an envelope from his pocket.
“Your divorce settlement has been revised.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“I signed my part.”
I stared at him.
“The apartment. Your savings. The trust for the baby. None of it depends on you staying married to me.”
My hands began shaking.
“Dorian…”
“I don’t want you to come back because you’re afraid of raising our child alone.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“And I don’t want you staying because you think love means accepting whatever I do.”
He placed the envelope on the counter.
“For the first time in our marriage, I’m giving you a choice without trying to influence it.”
I looked at the man I’d once believed would never willingly let me go.
“Do you still love me?”
His expression broke.
“More than anything.”
“Then why are you signing the divorce?”
He swallowed.
“Because loving you doesn’t give me the right to keep you.”
Something inside my chest cracked open.
I stepped toward him.
“Dorian…”
He lifted a hand, then stopped himself.
Waiting.
I closed the distance and wrapped my arms around his waist.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Then his arms closed around me.
He held me carefully.
As if he understood how fragile the moment was.
“I don’t forgive you yet,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I ever will.”
“I know.”
“But I need you to come back.”
His breathing changed.
I pressed my forehead against his chest.
“Not for me. Not because we’re still married. Come back because this baby deserves the chance to know you.”
He kissed my hair.
“I’ll try,” he whispered.
Then he stepped away.
May you like
And walked out the door.
I watched him leave with the terrible feeling that I had just seen my husband for the last time.
