Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 09

Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 09

The man in the dark overcoat didn’t pull a weapon. He just handed me a meaningless cease-and-desist letter on the sidewalk outside my gallery. A pathetic scare tactic from Jason.

It didn’t work.

Twelve hours later, I sat in the sterile, wood-paneled courtroom.

“The timeline of the shell company transfers is locked,” my attorney, Mr. Dunn, whispered, tapping his pen against a massive stack of folders.

“And the pre-marital asset list?” I asked.

“Fully documented,” he confirmed. “We have every offshore receipt Victor Cross pulled from their servers.”

I looked across the center aisle. Jason sat at the respondent’s table. His expensive tailored suit looked slightly rumpled. He stared at me, his gaze dropping to my clothes.

I wore the faded floral dress. No makeup. No restrictive shapewear. My hair was tied back in a simple knot.

Jason stood up and walked the few steps across the aisle, ignoring his lawyer❖❖❖s frantic hand gestures.

“You wore a sundress to a divorce hearing?” Jason asked, his voice a harsh, tight whisper.

“I dressed for myself,” I answered, not breaking eye contact.

“You look like a complete stranger.”

“You never looked at me to begin with, Jason.”

He frowned, his eyes scanning my face as if trying to solve a complex puzzle. “You are making a massive mistake, Clara. If you present those forged documents, my father will bury you in civil court.”

“They aren’t forged,” I said smoothly. “And your father is about to be very busy.”

“All rise,” the bailiff announced.

Jason scrambled back to his seat.

The judge took the bench. The proceedings moved with brutal efficiency. Mr. Dunn didn’t waste time with emotional appeals. He dealt entirely in numbers.

“Exhibit D proves Apex Holdings is a shell company funded directly by the Mercer family trust,” Mr. Dunn stated, handing a binder to the clerk.

“Objection,” Jason’s lawyer interrupted. “Relevance.”

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Continue.”

I took the microphone. My hands didn’t shake. My voice rang out clear and steady in the quiet room.

“Jason Mercer engineered the bankruptcy of my father’s coastal development,” I stated, reading from the top document. “He acquired the Marina Point land for pennies on the dollar, then used our marriage to bypass the county commercial zoning tax.”

Jason gripped the edge of his table. “Clara, stop.”

“Quiet, Mr. Mercer,” the judge ordered.

I didn’t blink. I read every date, every hidden dollar amount, every calculated lie. I laid out three years of financial manipulation in less than ten minutes.

Jason watched me the entire time. The arrogance slowly drained from his face, replaced by a pale, sinking realization. He finally saw the woman sitting across from him. Not the docile, invisible prop he had trained me to be. Not a tax loophole.

I was the woman he proposed to on that island. He just forgot I had teeth.

The judge reviewed the final ledger. He closed the binder.

“The court finds in favor of the petitioner,” the judge announced, his gavel striking the wood block. “Full compensation for the embezzled Marina Point project will be awarded to the plaintiff’s family trust. Marital assets will be divided exactly according to the plaintiff’s filing.”

Jason slumped into his chair. He didn’t look at his lawyer. He just stared at the floor.

I stood up, grabbed my purse, and walked out.

Two days later, the real bomb detonated.

I stood in the middle of my art studio, wiping charcoal dust off my hands, when Maya❖❖❖s video call lit up my phone screen.

“Turn on the financial network,” Maya demanded the second I answered.

I grabbed the remote and turned on the small television mounted in the corner.

Richard Mercer stood at a press podium. Camera flashes illuminated his furious, red face.

“We are immediately severing all corporate ties with Thorne Industries,” Richard boomed over the speakers. “We have undeniable proof of gross misconduct and corporate espionage perpetrated by Zoe Thorne.”

“Zoe is finished,” Maya cheered through the phone.

“He’s burning her to the ground,” I noted, watching the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Thorne Industries stock was already plummeting.

“It gets better,” Maya insisted.

On the screen, Richard leaned closer to the microphones. “Furthermore, my son, Jason Mercer, has been entirely removed from the executive board due to his inappropriate and compromising involvement with Miss Thorne.”

I muted the television.

Zoe❖❖❖s perfect calculation had completely shattered. She lost her family’s protection the second the alliance broke. And without his board seat, Jason was entirely useless to her.

The bell above the studio door chimed.

I turned around.

Jason stood in the doorway. He looked hollowed out. He wore a wrinkled gray sweater, his jaw covered in dark stubble.

“Maya, I have to call you back,” I said, hanging up the phone.

Jason stepped into the gallery. He looked at the paintings on the walls, then at me.

“My father locked me out of the estate,” Jason said. His voice cracked.

“You did that to yourself.”

“Zoe packed her bags this morning,” he continued, taking another step forward. “Her father disowned her. She tried to empty my personal accounts before she left.”

“She lost her safety net. She needed cash.”

“She used me,” Jason whispered, his eyes filling with a desperate, frantic energy. “She never cared about me. She just wanted the bidding strategies.”

“I know.”

“I lost everything, Clara.” He reached out, stopping just a few feet away from me. “I lost the company. I lost my family.”

“You lost a business transaction.”

“I lost you.”

I laughed. A short, dry sound that echoed in the empty studio. “You never had me, Jason. You had a placeholder.”

“That isn’t true.” He grabbed the edge of a display table. “I remember the island. I remember how you smiled when I put the ring on your finger. We were happy.”

“You killed that girl,” I told him, my tone dropping to a cold, flat register. “You suffocated her because she was too bright, too loud, too real for your empty, pathetic life. You didn’t want a partner. You wanted a pet.”

Jason flinched. He looked at the floorboards, his chest heaving. True regret finally settled over his features. He wasn’t just mourning his bank account. He was staring at the ruins of his own making.

“I can fix this,” he pleaded, looking back up. “Just give me a chance to prove it.”

“Get out of my studio, Jason.”

“Clara, please.”

“Leave,” I ordered, stepping toward him. “Before I call Daniel to drag you out.”

Jason❖❖❖s jaw tightened at the mention of another man. He looked at me for a long, silent moment, searching for any trace of hesitation. He found none.

He turned around and walked out the door.

I locked the deadbolt behind him. I leaned against the glass, letting out a long, slow exhale.

It was finally over.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. Victor Cross❖❖❖s name flashed on the screen.

I swiped to answer. “We won the case, Victor. Zoe is ruined. Jason is broke. Are you calling to gloat?”

“I am calling because we missed something,” Victor said. His tone was entirely devoid of its usual arrogant drawl. It sounded tight. Urgent.

“What do you mean?” I asked, pushing away from the door.

“The Mercer family didn’t engineer your father’s bankruptcy on their own,” Victor stated. “They had an inside partner.”

“That’s impossible. My father ran that project alone.”

“Check the email I just sent you,” Victor instructed. “Look at the secondary authorization signature on the supply line contracts.”

I walked over to the counter and opened my laptop. I clicked on the encrypted file Victor had attached. The scanned document loaded on the screen.

I scrolled to the bottom of the page.

“Do you see it?” Victor asked over the line.

I stared at the slanted, blue ink handwriting next to Jason’s signature. My stomach dropped violently.

“Yes,” I whispered.

The inside partner who sold out my father’s company wasn’t a stranger.

It was my sister.