Chapter 2 - The Parasite's Panic
Derek didn't flinch. For a man whose entire life was built on maintaining appearances, his corporate survival instincts kicked in before the officers could even reach for their handcuffs.
"Officers, please, there has been a massive misunderstanding," Derek said, instantly adopting the smooth, vulnerable tone that had charmed my own family. He took a calculated step back, raising his hands in a peaceful surrender while offering a tragic, tight smile. "My wife is experiencing a severe mental health crisis. She had a manic episode this morning, burned herself accidentally with the coffee pot, and completely trashed our home before running out. I’ve been out looking for her all afternoon."
"Save it for the magistrate, Mr. Mercer," the lead officer said, stepping forward and grabbing Derek’s arm, twisting it sharply behind his back. The steel handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists with a heavy, final sound.
"You can't arrest him!" Suzanne shrieked, stamping her designer heel against the hardwood. "Do you know who he is? He’s the senior vice president of Mercer Acquisitions! Our mother is on the city council! You're going to ruin his career over a crazy woman's lies!"
"Ma'am, if you don't step back, you'll be booked for obstruction," the detective warned coldly, not even looking at her.
I chose that exact moment to step out of the closet.
The bedroom door clicked open, and I walked into the dining room. I had changed into a high-collared cotton shirt to keep the fabric from rubbing against the raw, blistered skin of my neck, and the white medical gauze on my cheek stood out starkly against my pale face. I was shaking, but for the first time in three years, I wasn't looking at the floor. I looked straight into the eyes of the man who had burned me.
Derek froze, his eyes narrowing into two venomous slits as he saw me standing there, completely unbowed.
"Clara," he hissed, the velvet voice vanishing, replaced by the low, lethal growl from breakfast. "You think you're clever? You think this apartment, this life, belongs to you? My name is on the joint account. By morning, my attorneys will have this warrant thrown out, and I will freeze every single asset you’ve ever touched. You’ll be sleeping on the street by Friday, sweetheart."
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"Actually, Derek, your name isn't on anything anymore," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, echoing clearly through the empty room. I tapped my pocket, pulling out my phone. "Before I went to the emergency room, I called the bank. The joint account was funded entirely by my corporate bonuses—which I have the forensic payroll stubs to prove. I filed an emergency fraud injunction. And as for this apartment..."
I held up a certified document I had pulled from my safe. "The deed was registered in my maiden name two years before I met you. You have exactly twenty minutes to let your sister pack your clothes before the locks are changed. You're not a husband, Derek. You’re just a trespasser."
