He Bought His Mistress A Penthouse In The Building I Own Chapter 12

He Bought His Mistress A Penthouse In The Building I Own Chapter 12: The Forged Signature

The hallway outside the study remained entirely pitched in absolute darkness.

I stood perfectly still. The heavy oak door sat open just a fraction of an inch, allowing a single, sharp slice of yellow light to spill across the hallway floor.

The brass doorknob turned to ice against my skin. The freezing metal numbed my fingertips. I tightened my grip anyway. My joints stiffened as I forced my lungs to expand at a grueling, measured pace. A dull, throbbing ache settled deep in the center of my chest, radiating outward with each suppressed exhale.

Through the narrow gap, I watched Julian.

He sat at my mahogany desk. He reached over and angled the brass reading lamp downward, creating a concentrated pool of bright light on the glass surface.

His phone buzzed violently against the wood.

Julian flinched. He snatched the device and tapped the screen, dropping it onto the desk on speakerphone.

“Are you ignoring me?” Chloe’s voice echoed thinly from the tiny speaker.

“I am working, Chloe,” Julian answered.

“Working on what? Your psychotic fiancée just assaulted me in a bathroom!”

“She isn’t my fiancée anymore. And I told you to stay away from her.”

“You promised me three million dollars, Julian. You said the wire would hit my account tonight.”

“It will hit tomorrow morning.”

“How? You don’t have a car. You don’t have an apartment. You don’t even have a valid credit card to buy me a drink.”

“I have a guarantor.”

“Who?”

“A very generous investor.”

Julian reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper. The predatory loan contract Victor Kane had handed him hours earlier.

“I don’t believe you,” Chloe snapped. “You lied about the necklace.”

“I didn’t lie. I misjudged its origin.”

“She ripped a two-million-dollar sapphire off my neck! I have a scratch!”

“I will buy you a bigger one by Friday.”

“I want a diamond this time. A flawless one.”

“Whatever you want, baby. Just give me five minutes to finish this administrative garbage.”

“If this falls through, I am calling Richard Montgomery,” Chloe threatened.

“Richard is a washed-up old man.”

“Richard has active bank accounts.”

“I will have three million in cash by sunrise. Don’t threaten me, Chloe.”

“Then send me a picture.”

“A picture of what?”

“The contract. The money. Something that proves you aren’t stringing me along.”

“Fine. Let me finish the last page, and I will text you the proof.”

Julian tapped the screen, cutting the call.

Silence rushed back into the study.

I didn’t blink. A strange, hollow laugh threatened to bubble up my throat. It was an entirely wrong reaction for a woman watching her life be dismantled. I swallowed the sound, letting the dull ache in my chest anchor me to the floor.

Julian opened the bottom drawer of the desk. He rummaged through a stack of old files.

He pulled out a pale blue slip of paper.

A canceled check from three years ago.

He laid the check flat on the glass desk. He positioned Victor Kane’s loan contract directly over it. The bright bulb of the reading lamp illuminated the papers, making the thick white parchment of the contract slightly translucent.

Through the paper, the dark ink of my signature became visible.

Julian picked up a black fountain pen.

He leaned forward, hovering the metal tip over the line marked *Guarantor*.

He didn’t hesitate.

His hand moved in a steady, practiced rhythm. He traced the sharp curve of the ‘S’. He followed the loop of the ‘e’.

He was forging my name. Committing a federal crime right inside my own house.

“Just a little further,” Julian muttered to himself.

He dragged the pen across the page, perfectly mimicking the sharp, aggressive slant of my handwriting. He finished the last letter, adding the definitive underline I always used on legal documents.

He sat back in the leather chair.

Julian picked up the contract. He held it up to the light, inspecting his handiwork.

A wide, genuine smile broke across his face. He looked incredibly satisfied.

He set the document back down on the desk. He picked up his phone, opened the camera application, and hovered the lens directly over the forged signature.

The shutter clicked.

Above the bookshelf, tucked between two leather-bound spines, a pinhole lens caught the flash and threw it back — a tiny, steady red light, blinking once in the dark.