I came home early and found my maid’s eight-year-old daughter standing on a chair, holding my crystal glass like she'd discovered something terrifying. “Mr. Moretti, this one is yours,” Lily whispered, pointing at the tiny crescent scratch near its stem, “so who put that other one beside your plate?” Seventeen minutes later, my security chief found an access card that turned a switched glass into something far more dangerous.

The phone continued to vibrate against my palm, a steady, mechanical pulse.

“Answer it, sir,” Vincent murmured, his hand dropping instinctively toward the concealed holster beneath his suit jacket. “Play along. Let’s see what she’s walking into.”

I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear.

“Adrian?” Celeste’s voice was sweet, melodic, wrapped in the warm affection of a devoted fiancée. “Darling, I’m so glad you picked up. I’m pulling into the gates now. The spa ran a little late, but I’m bringing home your favorite pinot noir. Are you still at the office?”

I looked around my half-empty closet, holding the forged transfer agreement in my left hand.

“No, Celeste,” I said, my voice dangerously level. “I came home early.”

A tiny, microscopic pause on the line. Just a fraction of a second where the polished veneer cracked.

Then her laugh chimed through the speaker, light and airy. “Oh? Well, that’s a wonderful surprise. I missed you anyway. Give me five minutes to freshen up in the suite, and we can open that bottle together.”

“I’m already in the suite,” I replied.

The line went dead.

Not disconnected—she hadn't hung up. She had simply stopped breathing. I could hear the faint, sharp intake of air on the other end before the call finally terminated with a click.

“Vincent,” I said, not taking my eyes off the door. “Lock the master wing. All smart locks, manual deadbolts, everything. Nobody leaves this house.”

Vincent moved instantly, slamming the heavy mahogany doors shut and throwing the three heavy brass bolts into place.

Grace stood in the hallway just outside the threshold, wringing her hands, her face etched with panic. “Mr. Moretti, please... Lily and I should go down to the kitchen—”

“Stay where you are, Grace,” I interrupted, stepping back into the bedroom. “You’re safe. But nobody is walking out of here until I find out how my signature ended up on a document transferring my entire life to a woman I met ten months ago.”

A minute later, distinct, sharp clicks of high heels echoed up the grand staircase.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Shiny shoes.

The footsteps marched down the private hallway of the west wing, stopping abruptly outside the double doors of the master suite.

Then came a soft, polite knock.

“Adrian?” Celeste’s voice called out through the thick wood, stripped of its melodic warmth, sounding thin and brittle. “Open the door, please. This is absurd.”

I walked over to the door, resting my hand on the cold brass handle, but I didn't turn it.

“You’re locked out, Celeste,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the heavy panels. “Just like you locked me out of my own history over the last six months. Open the safe downstairs in my study mentally? No, you didn't need to. You had the keys copied.”

“Adrian, you’re being paranoid,” she said, her voice rising in pitch, losing its composure. “It’s the stress of the wedding. Let me in, and we can talk about whatever nonsense you’ve worked yourself into.”

“Nonsense?” I raised the forged agreement, staring at the fraudulent signature. “Is it nonsense that my mother’s photograph was thrown in a closet? Is it nonsense that my clothes have been replaced by a stranger’s wardrobe? Or is it nonsense that someone slipped a poisoned glass of water onto my dinner table while I was out?”

Silence fell over the hallway. A heavy, suffocating silence.

Then, Celeste laughed. It wasn't a sweet laugh. It was cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of warmth.

“You really think you’re so smart, don’t you, Adrian?” her voice drifted through the wood, altered by anger. “You built an empire, you think you control every brick in this estate. But you never bothered to look at the foundation.”

I gripped the handle tighter. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that Moretti Enterprises was bankrupt three years ago,” Celeste hissed, her voice pressing right against the crack of the door. “Your father’s bad investments, your expansion into European markets—it was all bleeding out. My family bought up your debt quietly, piece by piece, before you even realized you were drowning.”

My blood turned to ice.

“You think I’m just a gold-digger?” she continued, her breathing heavy against the wood. “I’m the collection agency, Adrian. And today was the day we foreclosed.”

Before I could answer, a loud, metallic crash echoed from the downstairs foyer, followed by the sound of heavy boots marching across the marble floor.

Vincent’s tablet lit up with a dozen red warning alerts.

“Sir,” Vincent said, his face draining of all color as he stared at the security feed. “The perimeter gates have been breached. Six armed men just entered the ground floor.”