Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 22

Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 22: The Merger

The heavy iron gates of the penitentiary slammed shut behind me.

The blare of the medical alarm faded into the thick concrete walls.
Sunlight hit my face, sharp and blinding. I didn’t shield my eyes. I
let the glare burn against my retinas, soaking in the absolute
brilliance of the outside world.

Sebastian leaned against the rear door of the black Maybach
parked at the curb.

“Is he dead?” Sebastian asked. He checked his silver wristwatch,
completely unfazed by the sirens wailing inside the prison.

“Does it matter?” I replied, stepping off the curb.

“Only for probate court. Get in.”

He opened the door. I slid into the cool, dimly lit cabin. Sebastian
followed, shutting out the glaring sun and the noise of the sirens.
The privacy partition separating us from the driver was already
raised.

“He collapsed,” I noted, smoothing the fabric of my crimson skirt.
“The reality of his failure finally broke his chest open.”

“A fitting end,” Sebastian murmured.

He didn’t offer empty comfort. He didn’t ask if I felt guilty. Instead,
he reached into the leather compartment beside him and pulled
out a thick manila folder. He dropped the heavy stack of
documents onto my lap. “Read it,” he ordered.

I flipped open the cover. “An asset merger agreement.”

“I want to combine the portfolios,” he stated. “Apex Holdings and my private equity firm. We consolidate the voting shares under one umbrella.”

“You want a monopoly.”

“I want an empire,” he corrected. “Sign it.”

No flowers. No bended knee. No pathetic declarations of eternal devotion. Just a Montblanc pen extended toward me, gleaming in the shadows of the car.

I took the pen. I let my fingers brush against his.

“What’s my cut if we dissolve?” I asked, scanning the dense legal jargon on the second page.

“We don’t dissolve. We ruin anyone who tries to break us.”

“And if I decide to liquidate your assets?”

“You won’t,” Sebastian said, his gaze locking onto mine. “I make you too much money.”

“Arrogant.”

“Accurate.”

I flipped to the final page. I pressed the nib to the paper and signed my name. The scratch of the ink was loud in the quiet cabin, a permanent seal on our mutual greed. I handed the folder back to him.

He tossed the documents onto the opposite seat. He reached into his breast pocket and produced a black velvet box.

With a quick flick of his thumb, he snapped it open.

A massive, emerald-cut diamond caught the ambient light from the tinted windows. It was perfectly flawless, razor-sharp in its precision.

“Give me your left hand,” he commanded.

“Is this the part where you promise to cherish me?” I mocked, holding my hand out.

“This is the part where I lock down my most lethal asset.”

He didn’t gently slide it on. He seized my wrist. His grip bruised my skin, a stark reminder of his physical strength. He shoved the platinum band onto my ring finger with brutal force, scraping the metal against my knuckle.

The diamond sat heavy and ice-cold against my skin. The searing heat of his palm contrasted sharply with the frozen stone.

“Mine,” he stated, his voice dropping to a gravelly pitch.

“A profitable acquisition,” I countered.

“A hostile takeover.”

I stared at the ring. Fifteen years with Julian had been built on fake smiles, cheap sentiment, and hiding the rot beneath the floorboards. This union was entirely different. It was built on absolute mutual benefit, extreme possessiveness, and a shared capacity for destruction. It was indestructible.

I grabbed the lapels of his tailored suit.

I yanked him across the center console.

He didn’t resist. He crashed into me, pinning my shoulders against the leather seat. The heavy weight of his body crushed the breath from my lungs.

“Kiss me,” I demanded.

His mouth slammed over mine. Teeth clashed. I tasted copper instantly—a sharp, metallic tang of blood blooming on my lower lip. I dragged my nails down the back of his neck, digging into his skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth.

His hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. He bit down on my pulse point.

I let out a harsh laugh. The sound was entirely out of place for a newly engaged woman, echoing like a villain’s victory cry in the narrow space.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I challenged.

He shifted his weight, pressing his knee forcefully between my thighs. “I own you now, Clara. Every asset. Every share. Every drop of blood.” “Try to collect it,” I answered, pulling his face back down to mine.

Our kiss turned violent. It was a vicious tug-of-war, a battle for dominance right there in the backseat. He shoved his tongue past my teeth, tasting the blood I drew from his lip. I wrapped my hand around his thick neck, squeezing just enough to feel his pulse hammer against my palm.

This was the only kind of love I understood anymore. Power. Control. Survival.

The car swerved slightly, taking a sharp turn.

The intercom buzzed, shattering the heavy silence.

“We are five minutes out, sir,” the driver announced through the speaker.

Sebastian pulled back. His chest heaved. He wiped a smear of red lipstick from his chin with the back of his thumb.

“Fix your hair,” he instructed, straightening his tie.

I sat up. I checked my reflection in the darkened window glass. My lips were swollen, stained dark red. A faint mark bloomed on my neck from his teeth. I adjusted the collar of my blazer, intentionally leaving the mark visible. Let them see it. Let them know exactly who I belonged to, and who belonged to me.

“Are you ready for the board?” Sebastian asked. He buttoned his suit jacket, transforming instantly back into the ruthless corporate shark.

“They’ve been waiting for a bloodbath all week.” “I sent the wire transfers to the press an hour ago,” he noted, checking his phone. “The whole room knows you hold the majority shares of Julian’s former empire.”

“Good.”

The Maybach slowed to a crawl.

Outside the tinted windows, the city’s largest convention center loomed against the evening sky. Tonight was the Metropolitan Trade Gala. Every major shareholder, every rival CEO, and every vulture in the financial district waited inside those doors.

Camera flashes erupted like a lightning storm as we approached the red carpet.

“They think they’re meeting a grieving ex-wife,” Sebastian murmured. He watched the paparazzi swarm the perimeter of the vehicle.

“They’re meeting a queen,” I corrected.

I touched the heavy diamond on my finger. A cold thrill shot straight down my spine.

The car stopped. The engine idled softly.

A uniformed valet stepped up to my side of the vehicle. The heavy door handle clicked open, letting the roar of the crowd and the blinding flash of the cameras spill into the dark cabin.