THE MAFIA BOSS IN THE WHEELCHAIR WAS HUMILIATED IN FRONT OF 300 GUESTS—THEN HIS CONTRACT WIFE LEARNED WHO PUT HIM THERE

The next morning, the Manhattan elite was buzzing. Gossip columns were filled with whispered rumors about Roland Pike’s brazen disrespect toward Dominic Vale at the St. Regis gala.

While the media painted Dominic as a fallen king, inside the Vale estate, a war room had been established.

I walked down to the lower level of the mansion—a floor I had never been permitted to visit until today. The heavy steel doors opened to reveal a high-tech surveillance command center. Monitors lined the walls, tracking real-time data, security feeds, and financial markets.

Dominic was at the head of a massive glass table, flanked by Gabriel and four heavily armed tactical officers.

"You shouldn't be down here, Claire," Dominic said without turning around, his ears sharp enough to recognize my footsteps.

"I’m your wife, contract or not," I replied firmly, stepping into the room. "If my name and my past are tied to this war, I refuse to be hidden away like a trophy."

Gabriel gave a respectful nod and stepped back. Dominic turned his wheelchair to face me. He wore a dark charcoal suit, minus the tie, his top button undone to reveal the strong line of his throat.

"Roland is launching a multi-million-dollar bid to buy the SoHo waterfront property tomorrow night," I said, pointing to one of the screens displaying real estate listings. "My firm originally held the architectural design contracts for that entire district before Marcus stole our funds."

Dominic raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Roland needs that property to launder his construction syndicate's money," I explained, drawing on my years of corporate experience. "He's hosting an exclusive auction at the Metropolitan Club for top-tier investors. If you show up in your wheelchair, he'll expect you to play defense. But if I go... as an architect who knows every flaw in those property blueprints... I can sabotage his bid from the inside."

"No," Dominic said instantly. "It's too dangerous."

"Dominic—"

"I said no, Claire!" His voice boomed through the room, making the security guards stand at attention. He wheeled closer, his expression thunderous. "Roland is a predator. The moment he senses you are actively working against him, he won't hesitate to pull a trigger. I brought you into my home to keep you safe, not to use you as bait."

"I am not bait!" I snapped, closing the distance between us until I was standing right over him. "I am the woman whose life was ripped apart! You spent six months keeping me in the dark, treating me like fragile glass. If we are going to finish this, let me fight alongside you!"

For a long moment, the silence between us was electric. Dominic stared up at me, his dark eyes ablaze with a mixture of fury, admiration, and raw, undisguised passion.

Slowly, his hand reached up, taking mine. His thumb stroked the back of my hand, sending a shiver straight down my spine.

"You are stubborn," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

"I'm an architect. I know how to build structures that survive storms."

Dominic let out a low, breathy laugh—a sound so rare and handsome it made my heart drop. "Gabriel."

"Yes, Boss?"

"Prepare the security protocols for the Metropolitan Club tomorrow night. Mrs. Vale is attending." Dominic looked back at me, his grip on my hand tightening possessively. "But you don't go alone. And you wear my colors."

That evening, a wooden crate arrived at my quarters. Inside was a floor-length dress made of blood-red silk, accompanying a diamond choker with a deep crimson ruby at its center.

When I stepped down the grand staircase the following evening, Dominic was waiting in the foyer. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of me.

"Red suits you, Claire," he said, his voice thick with suppressed emotion.

"It's the color of blood," I replied softly, walking over to him and leaning down to adjust his silk pocket square. "And tonight, we take his."

Dominic reached up, cupping the back of my neck, pulling me down until our lips were mere inches apart. "If anything goes wrong tonight, you run straight to Gabriel. Do you hear me?"

"Nothing will go wrong," I whispered, breathless from his proximity.

"Claire," he warned, his dark eyes piercing into mine. "Promise me."