Chapter 2 - The Mask Slips
By Friday afternoon, the rain had cleared, leaving Newport wrapped in a deceptive, sunlit stillness that mocked the cold calculation festering inside the Mercer estate.
From the subterranean security bunker tucked beneath the west wing, Dominic Mercer watched his fiancée on a high-definition monitor.
The room smelled of stale coffee and warm server racks. On the wall-mounted screens, twelve different camera angles mapped every inch of the mansion and its manicured grounds. Dominic sat in a high-backed leather chair, his dark eyes fixed on screen four: the second-floor sunroom.
Brooke Harrington sat on a velvet chaise lounge, her legs crossed, sipping chamomile tea. Across from her stood Natalie, holding Noah’s small winter coat.
“I don’t understand why you’re making this such a difficult transition, Natalie,” Brooke’s voice filtered through the hidden audio feed, crisp and dripping with condescension. “It’s just a house. Dominic can buy you a condo anywhere in Providence. Why cling to a damp, outdated shingle cottage?”
Natalie’s voice shook, thin and strained. “It was my mother’s home, Brooke. And Dominic promised—explicitly promised—that Noah could grow up there until he finished school.”
“Dominic says a lot of things to appease people when he’s feeling guilty,” Brooke replied, setting her teacup down with a sharp clink. “He’s a businessman. He understands asset consolidation. And after Saturday, my name will be on the primary deed. I am not having my property encumbered by sentimental squatters.”
“Squatters?” Natalie stepped back as if she’d been struck. “We are his family.”
“You were his family,” Brooke corrected, her honey-blond hair catching the afternoon light as she leaned forward. “Now you’re a liability. And if you don't sign those papers by tonight, I won't just evict you from the cottage. I’ll make sure Dominic cuts off your monthly living stipend entirely. Let’s see how long you survive in Providence without a dime.”
In the bunker, Dominic’s hand closed around the armrest of his chair. The wood groaned under the pressure.
Beside him, Emma stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her apron. She had brought him a fresh cup of black coffee ten minutes ago and refused to leave. She wanted to see how the billionaire reacted when the velvet glove was pulled off entirely.
“She’s enjoying this,” Emma murmured softly.
“She’s writing checks her family name can’t cash,” Dominic replied, his voice flat, devoid of human warmth.
On screen four, Natalie turned away, fighting back tears, and hurried out of the sunroom with Noah’s coat. Brooke watched her go with a triumphant, self-satisfied smirk, then picked up her phone to dial a number.
The audio system automatically routed the incoming call. It was Arthur Harrington, her older brother.
“Brooke,” Arthur’s voice boomed through the bunker speakers. “Did she sign?”
“Not yet. She’s dragging her feet like a martyr,” Brooke scoffed into the phone. “But she will. She’s terrified of losing her stipend. Once Dominic is legally my husband on Saturday, the pre-nup locks in my administrative control over the estate trust. We’ll have the east bluff cleared and rezoned for commercial development by winter.”
“Good,” Arthur replied. “Just keep him distracted. Is he still in London?”
“His executive assistant confirmed his meetings run through Sunday morning. He has no idea what we’re doing.”
Dominic stared at the screen, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
My executive assistant, Dominic thought, remembering that he personally authorized every single calendar update routed through his private office. His assistant knew he had landed in Rhode Island at dawn. Which meant Brooke hadn't checked with his office; she had checked with a paid insider on his administrative payroll.
“Emma,” Dominic said without looking away from the monitors.
“Yes, Mr. Mercer?”
“Get word to Marco. I want every financial ledger, email record, and text exchange between Arthur Harrington and our chief compliance officer pulled and placed on my desk within the hour.”
Emma’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re expanding the audit to your own corporate staff?”
“If my future wife is conspiring to siphon family trusts with the help of someone inside my corporation,” Dominic said, standing up and smoothing the front of his black vest, “then I need to clean house before I walk down the aisle.”
He turned toward the heavy steel door of the bunker.
May you like
“Where are you going?” Emma asked.
“To take a walk,” Dominic said coldly. “It’s time my fiancée learned that ghosts have a habit of coming home early.”
