The crystal shattered against the marble, but the silence that followed was deafening.
The estate manager’s arrogant sneer dissolved into raw terror as her smartphone began vibrating violently in her hand. *Alert: Cayman accounts drained. Alert: Properties seized. Alert: Passports revoked.*
“You can’t do this!” she shrieked, scrambling back up the stairs. “She signed the debt contracts, Alejandro! Helena is legally my servant. If you touch me, my contingency files go to the press!”
Alejandro didn’t even look at her. He gently pulled his trembling wife to her feet, slipping his tailored coat over her bruised shoulders.
“You misunderstood the order,” Alejandro’s voice was dead calm.
All around them, the mansion’s heavy steel lockdown shutters slammed over the windows. The main doors bolted shut with a deafening crack.
Helena, no longer crying, wiped the dark “ink” from her hands. It wasn’t ink. It was corrosive thermal gel. She hadn’t been frantically scrubbing a stain—she had been melting the floor’s biometric pressure plates to unlock the front door from the inside. She’d been staging her own escape.
“I didn’t just dismantle your finances,” Alejandro said, his cold eyes finally locking onto the manager’s pale face. “For three years, you enslaved my wife and sold my corporate secrets to the Volkov syndicate to fund your little empire.”
The woman stopped breathing.
“The Volkovs despise thieves,” Alejandro whispered. “And I just sent them irrefutable proof that you’ve been skimming their money—along with the master access codes to this exact room.”
A heavy, violent pounding began echoing against the reinforced front doors.
Alejandro wrapped his arm tightly around his brilliant wife, guiding her toward the private extraction elevator.
“Let’s go home, darling,” he said without looking back. “The staff is about to be terminated.”