Chapter 2 – THE SECRET IN THE WATCH

I stared at the black-and-white image.

My hands finally began to tremble.

“You have a child with her?” I asked.

The words felt like ash in my throat.

Vincent stood frozen in the center of the room.

“Eleanor, please. Don’t look at that.”

Bianca snatched the photo from my fingers.

Her confident smile was gone, replaced by a sudden, fierce panic.

“Where did you get this?” she hissed at Vincent. “I told you I destroyed it!”

Vincent didn’t look at her. He only looked at me.

“Ellie, there is no child.”

I looked back and forth between them.

“I’m looking at an ultrasound, Vincent.”

“She lied!” he shouted. His voice echoed off the high ceilings. “She faked the pregnancy three years ago to force me to leave you. When I found out the truth, I kept the picture in the watch to remind myself of what she really is.”

Bianca’s face flushed dark red.

“You bastard,” she spat.

The dynamic in the room suddenly shifted.

She wasn’t the victorious mistress anymore. She was a woman whose leverage was slipping.

“You think you’re so smart, Vincent,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But my father still owns you. If I walk out that door, your wife is dead by morning.”

Vincent stepped in front of me.

For the first time tonight, he positioned his body as a shield.

“Your father is dead, Bianca,” he said coldly.

She laughed. “You think my brother won’t finish the job?”

“Your brother doesn’t know where the ledger is,” Vincent replied.

The ledger.

The legendary black book that held the names of every corrupt judge and politician in Chicago. The ultimate insurance policy.

“I have it,” Vincent said. “And if your family touches Eleanor, it goes to the FBI.”

Bianca sneered.

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have it.”

She turned on her heel and walked to the front door.

“Keep your pathetic wife, Vincent. But you better watch your back.”

The door slammed shut.

The house was suddenly terribly quiet.

Vincent let out a long, ragged breath and turned to me.

“Ellie. Thank God. I didn’t know how to get her out without—”

“Stop,” I said.

He froze.

“You brought her into my home to humiliate me,” I said. “To play some twisted game with her family.”

“I had to make her think I was finally leaving you,” he pleaded. “It was the only way to get her here, away from her brother’s guards. I’m taking you away tonight. We’re leaving Chicago.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out two plane tickets.

“I’ve set everything up. We can finally be free.”

I looked at the tickets.

Then I looked at the man I had loved for thirty years.

“Where is the ledger, Vincent?”

He blinked. “What?”

“The ledger. You said you have it.”

“I do. It’s safe.”

“Where?”

He hesitated.

That one second of hesitation broke whatever was left of my heart.

“In the safe deposit box,” he lied.

I knew he was lying. Because thirty years teaches you every micro-expression on your husband’s face.

I walked over to the hallway closet.

I reached into the pocket of his heavy winter coat, the one he wore every Sunday.

My fingers brushed against cold leather.

I pulled out a small, black book.

Vincent’s eyes widened in sheer terror.

“Eleanor, give me that.”

I opened the cover.

It wasn’t a list of judges or politicians.

It was a list of bank transfers.

All made out to a name I recognized.

Our daughter, Clara.

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