Chapter 3
The days following the confrontation blurred together in a haze of normalcy and underlying tension. Wesley had been unusually quiet since that night, his mind clearly working behind his warm brown eyes. I'd catch him staring at his phone, fingers flying across the screen, or engaged in hushed conversations that ended abruptly when I entered the room.
I knew something was brewing.
"Who are you calling now?" I asked one evening, finding him in his home office with the door partially closed. The twins were asleep, and the apartment was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamps he'd left on for me.
Wesley looked up from his laptop, his expression softening when he saw me. "Just Marcus," he said, gesturing to his legal advisor's name on the caller ID. "He's helping me with some... research."
"Research," I repeated, leaning against the doorframe. "On Dante?"
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Let's just say I'm getting to know our friend better. His business practices, his financial structure." He patted the leather chair beside him. "Come sit with me?"
I settled into the chair, watching as he pulled up a series of documents on his screen. Financial statements, investor reports, board meeting minutes—all bearing the Alexander Corporation logo.
"How did you get these?" I whispered, recognizing the depth of information he'd compiled.
"I have connections," Wesley said simply, his fingers tracing the edge of a particularly detailed report. "When someone threatens my family, I like to be prepared."
The word 'family' sent a warm shiver down my spine. He meant it—all of us. The twins, me. We were his family, and he would protect us with everything he had.
"He's vulnerable here," Wesley continued, pointing to a section of the financial report. "Alexander Corporation relies heavily on three major investors. If those investors were to pull out..."
"You could bankrupt him," I finished, understanding dawning.
Wesley's eyes met mine, steady and certain. "Not just bankrupt. Destroy."
---
The text messages started three days later.
Unknown Number: Monica, we need to talk. Please call me.
Unknown Number: I can't believe you married someone else. We were supposed to be together.
Unknown Number: Those children—they're not even yours, are they? You're just playing house.
I deleted each message without responding, but they kept coming. Sometimes they were pleading, sometimes angry, sometimes cruel. All from different numbers, as if Dante was using burners to avoid being blocked.
"He's escalating," I told Wesley one night, showing him the latest barrage of texts. "He won't accept that I've moved on."
Wesley's jaw tightened as he scrolled through the messages. "He's desperate. Men like Dante don't handle rejection well."
The next morning, I found a bouquet of roses outside our door—white ones, just like Dante used to give me when we were teenagers. No card, but I didn't need one to know who they were from.
Two days later, our neighbor mentioned seeing a man in a luxury car parked across the street, watching our building. "Dark hair, expensive suit," she said. "He was there for hours."
That night, Wesley installed new security cameras outside our apartment and had a conversation with the building's security team that I wasn't privy to.
---
"Pulling out now would be suspicious," Wesley explained over breakfast, his voice casual as he spread jam on his toast. "But I've been quietly shifting my investments."
I looked up from my coffee. "What does that mean?"
"It means that over the next few weeks, Alexander Corporation will start to notice some of their major backers suddenly having 'cash flow issues' or 'reassessing their investment strategies.'" He took a bite of toast, his eyes never leaving mine. "Nothing overt. Just... cracks in the foundation."
"Cracks that you're creating," I clarified.
"Cracks that were already there," he corrected gently. "Dante's been running his company on borrowed money and false confidence for years. I'm just making sure the right people know it."
Later that evening, as I was putting the twins to bed, my phone buzzed with a news alert: "Alexander Corporation Stocks Drop 8% Amid Investor Concerns."
I showed Wesley the notification when he joined us for bedtime stories.
"Phase one," he said simply, settling into the rocking chair beside Emma's bed. "There's more to come."
As he read to our daughters, his voice steady and reassuring, I watched his face in the soft glow of their nightlight. This man—this incredible man—was systematically dismantling the empire of the person who had once shattered my world.
And he was doing it all while wearing a superhero cape that Emma had insisted he put on before reading her favorite story.
"Again, Daddy!" Emma demanded as he finished the book.
Wesley smiled, turning back to the first page. "From the beginning?"
"From the beginning," she nodded solemnly.
As he began reading again, I caught a glimpse of his phone lighting up with another message from Marcus. Something about "accelerating the timeline" and "major players preparing to exit."
The foundation was crumbling. And somewhere across the city, Dante Alexander was just beginning to realize that the ground beneath his feet was no longer solid.
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