“She’ll cool down.”
Jasmine reached across the desk and touched his wrist.
“You deserve someone who understands your world.”
Aaron looked at her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then his phone rang.
The caller ID made his expression change.
“Who is it?” Jasmine asked.
Aaron didn’t answer.
He stood.
“Excuse me.”
He walked into the adjoining conference room and closed the door.
Then he answered.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end spoke only one sentence.
Aaron’s face went pale.
“What?”
A pause.
“You’re certain?”
Another pause.
His hand tightened around the phone.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“That can’t be right.”
The caller said something else.
Aaron slowly sat down.
“What do you mean the ownership records changed?”
Silence.
Then Aaron whispered:
“Who authorized it?”
The answer came.
His blood ran cold.
Because the signature wasn’t forged.
It was real.
And it belonged to Alyssa.
That evening, I arrived at my family’s estate.
My father was waiting in the library.
He stood beside the fireplace with a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand.
He looked older than he had that morning.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
When I entered, he didn’t ask whether I was all right.
He simply said:
“You finally stopped choosing him.”
I looked at him.
“I thought I was choosing love.”
My father sighed.
“No, sweetheart.”
He walked toward me.
“You were choosing a man you hoped would become worthy of your love.”
That sentence broke something in me.
I looked away.
“I gave him everything.”
“I know.”
“I gave him the money.”
“I know.”
“The patents.”
“I know.”
“My connections. My reputation. My family.”
“I know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And he still thinks I’m nothing.”
My father placed his glass down.
“That is because you made one mistake.”
“What?”
“You hid your power so well that he eventually believed you had none.”
I stared at him.
Then he opened a drawer in his desk.
Inside was a thick black folder.
He pushed it toward me.
My name was printed on the cover.
Not Alyssa Prescott.
Just:
ALYSSA VALE — CONTROLLING INTERESTS
My breathing slowed.
I opened it.
The first page listed companies.
The second listed trusts.
The third listed intellectual property.
The fourth listed voting rights.
I turned another page.
Then another.
My hands began to tremble.
“Dad…”
He didn’t answer.
I looked up.
“How much of Prescott Technologies do I actually own?”
He held my gaze.
“Enough.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
He leaned forward.
“So I’ll give you the answer.”
He placed one finger on the final page.
“On paper, Aaron Prescott is the founder and CEO.”
My eyes moved down the page.
“Behind the scenes, you control the majority of the voting structure.”
I stared at the document.
The room seemed to become very quiet.
“How?”
My father smiled sadly.
“Remember those thirteen patents you secured before the company almost collapsed?”
I nodded.
“You didn’t merely save his company.”
He tapped the folder.
“You became the foundation on which it was built.”
I looked at the ownership chart.
For four years, I had believed Aaron had built an empire.
Now I was discovering that I had been standing quietly underneath it, holding it up.
And he hadn’t even bothered to look down.
My father continued.
“There is more.”
My eyes lifted.
“What more?”
He reached for another envelope.
“This came to us yesterday.”
He handed it to me.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Jasmine.
Standing outside a private building in Zurich.
Beside her was a man I recognized.
Aaron’s former business partner.
The one who had supposedly disappeared from the company three years ago after a bitter dispute.
I looked at the date.
Three days earlier.
My heart began pounding.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” my father said.
“It’s very possible.”
I turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten note on the back.
Six words.
She didn’t come here for Aaron.
I stared at it.
My father watched me carefully.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
Then he said:
“Jasmine has been investigating you.”
A cold sensation traveled down my spine.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“We already tried.”
“And?”
My father’s expression darkened.
“We discovered that Jasmine isn’t her real name.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She changed her identity seven years ago.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked back at the photograph.
For the first time, the woman who had taken my seat on the jet didn’t look like a foolish secretary trying to seduce my husband.
She looked like something else.
Someone who had entered our lives with a purpose.
And suddenly, the humiliating scene on the plane felt different.
Maybe Jasmine hadn’t taken my seat because she wanted Aaron.
Maybe she wanted me to leave.
Maybe she had known exactly what would happen.
My phone suddenly rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Only breathing.
Then a woman’s voice whispered:
“Alyssa…”
I stood completely still.
The voice continued.
“If you want to know why Jasmine really came into your husband’s company…”
A pause.
“Look at the original patent files.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who are you?”
The caller ignored my question.
Then she said something that made my knees weaken.
“Your husband didn’t build Prescott Technologies.”
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“What did you say?”
“He stole it.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
My father rose slowly.
“What happened?”
I looked at him.
Then at the black folder.
Then at the photograph of Jasmine.
And finally at the thirteen patents that had once saved Aaron’s company.
For four years, I had believed my greatest mistake was loving the wrong man.
