Unaware His Pregnant Wife Was A Trillionaire Boss’s Daughter, He Threw Her Luggage Into The Rain…

“No, Father,” she said. “I need to witness this. I spent three years being invisible in my own marriage. I’ve earned the right to watch them finally see me.”

Thomas studied her for a long moment, then nodded.

He turned to the lead security officer, a man built like a linebacker but moving with dancer’s grace. “Peterson. Retrieve Mrs. Wellington’s belongings. All of them. Carefully.”

Mrs. Wellington.

The title landed like a stamp, sharp and final. Daniel’s mind rebelled against it. She was his wife. She was Elena Harrison. She was…

She had never been his.

Margaret found her voice, though it came out as a croak. “Thomas… Mr. Wellington, please. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Has there?” Thomas’s attention swung to her like a spotlight, and Margaret physically recoiled. “Did you, or did you not, spit in my pregnant daughter’s face approximately fifteen minutes ago?”

Daniel’s blood turned to ice when Thomas added, almost conversationally, “I suspect the footage from your doorbell camera will corroborate every detail.”

The doorbell camera. Victoria had insisted on installing it last month, claiming security. Every word, every action, recorded. Daniel looked toward the blinking red light and felt nausea rise. Their cruelty had been archived.

Thomas produced a folder from his assistant with practiced ease. “Mr. Harrison,” he said, and his tone shifted from father to executioner, “I have here a complete dossier on your financial situation. Your mortgage. Underwater. Your interest rate is seventeen percent above market value because you lack financial literacy. Your credit card debt, forty-seven thousand across six cards. Primarily from maintaining an appearance of wealth you don’t possess. Your car lease. Your country club membership you cannot afford. And the apartment you’ve been paying for with cash advances.”

Victoria’s grip went slack.

Daniel’s mouth opened, but his throat refused to cooperate.