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

The downloaded files provided undeniable proof: Roland Pike had used Marcus Wynn to launder money, bribe city officials, and finance illegal weapons shipments through the New York docks.

Equipped with this evidence, my newly restored design firm officially reclaimed the SoHo waterfront development project, delivering a crushing multi-million-dollar blow to Roland’s syndicate.

The city shifted. The press, which had mocked Dominic days before, now reported on the sudden collapse of Roland Pike’s corporate empire as federal prosecutors launched secret grand jury investigations based on anonymous tips.

Yet, despite our victory, a shadow hung over the mansion.

It was 2:00 AM. I couldn't sleep. I walked out onto the second-floor balcony overlooking the garden, clutching a warm cup of tea.

Below, in the courtyard, I saw a solitary figure.

It was Dominic.

He was in the custom gym adjacent to the garage. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, I saw something that made my breath catch in my throat.

Dominic was not sitting in his wheelchair.

He was holding onto parallel steel bars, his teeth gritted in sheer agony, his muscular arms bulging as he pushed himself upright. His legs, scarred and trembling, were supporting his weight.

He took a slow, agonizing step forward. Then another.

Sweat poured down his face and chest. He collapsed back into his wheelchair, gasping for air, slamming his fist against the armrest in frustration.

Tears sprang to my eyes. I hurried down the stairs and pushed open the gym door.

"Dominic..."

He snapped his head toward me, panic flickering across his face before he forced a neutral mask. "Claire. What are you doing down here?"

I walked over to him, dropping to my knees right beside his wheelchair. I placed my hands on his lap, looking up into his tortured eyes.

"You're walking," I whispered.

Dominic closed his eyes, exhaling a long, ragged breath. "Not well enough. The nerve damage was severe. The doctors said I would never stand again. For eighteen months, I've undergone intense, private physical therapy every night."

"Why did you keep it a secret?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Why let the world—why let me—think you couldn't stand?"

"Because as long as my enemies believe I am helpless, they underestimate me," he said softly, reaching down to cup my cheek. "And because... I didn't want you to see me fail."

"You're not failing!" I cried, resting my forehead against his knee. "Dominic, you are the strongest man I have ever known. Roland Pike couldn't break you. Nobody can."

Dominic reached down, lifting my chin so I had to look at him. His dark eyes were filled with an intense, raw emotion that shattered every wall he had ever built between us.

"I didn't care what Roland said in that ballroom, Claire," he confessed softly. "I didn't care about the three hundred people laughing at me. The only thing that broke my heart... was seeing the pity in your eyes."

"It wasn't pity," I sobbed, tears spilling over my eyelashes. "It was pain! Because I hate seeing the man I love suffer!"

The word hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

The man I love.

Dominic went completely still. "What did you say?"

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed violently on the table.

Dominic looked at the caller ID. His expression hardened instantly. He answered, putting it on speaker.

"Speak," Dominic commanded.

"Claire! Claire, please help me!"

A panicked, breathless voice came through the speaker. It was Marcus Wynn.

"Marcus?" I gasped.

"Roland knows I talked to Vale's men!" Marcus screamed over the phone, background noise suggesting he was running through a dark alley. "He sent his hitmen! They're going to kill me! Meets me at the old SoHo warehouse on 4th Street! I have the original hard drives—the ones that prove Roland ordered the hit on Dominic! Please, Claire, save me!"

The line went dead.

I looked at Dominic. "It's a trap."

"Of course it's a trap," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy tone. "Roland is desperate. He knows the grand jury is coming for him. He wants to lure us out."

"We can't go," I said, fear tightening in my chest.