King of Greed

First, a ridiculous tech malfunction reset our email and calendar systems that morning, and we’d spent hours getting everything back in order.

Then, one of my top traders quit because he was “burned out” and “found his true calling” as a fucking yoga teacher, of all things.

Now, an hour before U.S. markets closed, news leaked that a company we had a large position in was being investigated by the Securities and Exchange Commission. Stocks were in free fall, which meant the value of our position was declining by the minute, and my plans to leave early had disintegrated faster than tissue paper in a washing machine. As the CEO of a major financial conglomerate, I didn’t have the luxury of delegating crisis management.

“Talk to me.” Brisk strides took me from my office to the emergency staff meeting three doors down in thirty seconds. My muscles coiled so tight, it was a miracle they didn’t cramp. I’d lost millions in minutes, and I didn’t have time to beat around the bush.

“Rumor has it the SEC is going hard on this one.” Caroline, my chief of staff, matched my pace with ease. “The new chairman wants to make a splashy first impression. What better way to do that than to go head-to-head with one of the biggest banks in the country?”

For fuck’s sake. It was always the newbies that crashed their way through their first year like a bull in a china shop. I had a good relationship with the old chairman, but the new one was a goddamn thorn in my side, and he’d only been there for three months.

I checked my watch as I pushed open the door to the executive conference room. A quarter past three. I was supposed to fly out to DC with Alessandra at six. If I kept the meeting short and drove straight to the airport instead of stopping at home first like I’d originally planned, I could still make it.

Dammit. Why did the chairman have to upend things on my wedding anniversary, of all days?

I took my seat at the head of the table and reached for my lighter. It was instinct at this point; I didn’t even have to think about it. “Give me the numbers.”

Thoughts of DC and upcoming flights melted away as I flicked the lighter on and off while my team debated the pros and cons of dumping our position in the bank versus weathering the storm. There was no room for personal concerns in times of emergencies, and the solid, comforting weight of silver focused my thoughts on the task at hand instead of the insidious whispers crowding my brain.

They were always there, filling my head with doubts like how I was one bad decision away from losing everything. How I was and always would be the butt of every joke, the foster kid whose own biological mother abandoned him and who flunked sixth grade twice.

The “problem student,” my teachers lamented.

The “idiot,” my classmates jeered.

The “slacker,” my guidance counselor sighed.

The voices were loudest in times of crisis. I reigned over a multi-billion-dollar empire, but I walked through the halls every day with the prospect of a crash hanging over me.

On. Off. On. Off. The increased speed of my flicks matched my escalating heartbeats.

“Sir.” Caroline’s voice cut through the buzzing in my ears. “What’s your verdict?”

I blinked away the unwanted memories lurking at the corners of my consciousness. The room came back into focus, revealing my team’s anxious, expectant expressions.

Someone had pulled up a presentation sometime in the past minute, even though I’d repeatedly said I hated slide decks. The right side was filled with a comforting mix of charts and numbers, but the left contained several lengthy bullet points.

The sentences swam before me. They didn’t look right; I was sure my brain had added some words while erasing others. The back of my neck heated while my heartbeats thundered with such fury, it felt like they were trying to punch through my chest and knock the words off the screen in one fell swoop.

“What did I say about presentation format?” I could barely hear myself over the noise. It grew louder every second, and only my painful grip on the lighter prevented me from unraveling. “No. Bullet points.”

I bit out the words, and the room fell deathly silent.

“I-I’m sorry, sir.” The analyst presenting the slides paled to the point of translucence. “My assistant— ”

“I don’t give a damn about your assistant.” I was being an asshole, but I didn’t have time to feel bad about it. Not when my stomach was turning and a migraine was already crawling its way behind my temple.

On. Off. On. Off.

I turned my head and focused on the charts instead. The switch in focus, combined with the clicks of the lighter, calmed me enough to think clearly again.

SEC. Tumbling stocks. What to do with our position.

I couldn’t fully shake the sense that one day, I would fuck up so royally that I’d destroy everything I had, but that day wouldn’t be today.

I knew what to do, and as I laid out my strategy for holding on to our position, I pushed every other voice out of my head—including the one telling me that I was forgetting something damn important.

CHAPTER 3

Alessandra

HE WASN’T COMING.

I sat in the living room, my skin ice cold as I watched the minutes tick by. It was past eight. We were supposed to leave for DC two hours ago, but I hadn’t seen or heard from Dominic since he left for work that morning. My calls had gone to voicemail, and I refused to check in with his office like some random acquaintance begging for a minute of the great Dominic Davenport’s time.

I was his wife, dammit. I shouldn’t have to chase him down or guess his whereabouts. Then again, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was doing right now.

Working. Always working. Even on our ten-year anniversary. Even after I’d stressed how important this trip was.

I finally had a good reason to cry, but no tears came. I just felt…numb. A part of me had expected him to forget or postpone, and wasn’t that the saddest part?

“Mrs. Davenport!” Our housekeeper, Camila, entered the room, her arms laden with freshly laundered linen. She’d returned from her vacation last night and had spent the day tidying up the penthouse. “I thought you already left.”

“No.” My voice sounded strange and hollow. “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere this weekend after all.”

“Why…” She trailed off, her eagle eyes taking in the luggage next to the couch and my white-knuckled grip on my knees. Her round, matronly face softened with a mix of sympathy and pity. “Ah. In that case, I’ll make dinner for you. Moqueca. Your favorite, hmm?”

Ironically, the fish stew was what my old childhood housekeeper made me when I was heartbroken over a boy. I wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Thanks, Camila.”

While she bustled off to the kitchen, I tried to sort through the chaos swirling through my brain.

Cancel all our reservations or wait? Is he simply late or is he not going on the trip at all? Do I even want to go on this trip now, even if he does?

Dominic and I were supposed to spend the weekend in DC, where we’d met and gotten married. I had it all planned out—dinner at our first-date restaurant, a suite at a cozy boutique hotel, no phones or work allowed. It was supposed to be a trip for us. As our relationship frayed further every day, I’d hoped it would bring us closer again. Make us fall in love the way we had a lifetime ago.

But I realized that was impossible because neither of us was the same person we used to be. Dominic wasn’t the boy who gave himself a hundred paper cuts making origami versions of my favorite flowers for my birthday, and I wasn’t the girl who floated through life with stars and dreams in her eyes.

“I don’t have the money to buy you all the flowers you deserve yet,” he said, sounding so solemn and formal I couldn’t help but smile at the contrast between his tone and the jar of colorful paper flowers in his hands. “So I made them instead.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Dom…”

There must’ve been hundreds of flowers in there. I didn’t want to think about how long it took him to make them.

“Happy birthday, amor.” His mouth lingered on mine in a long, sweet kiss. “One day, I’ll buy you a thousand real roses. I promise.”

He’d kept that promise, but he’d broken a thousand more since.

A salty trickle finally snaked its way down my cheek and shocked me out of my frozen stupor.

I stood, my breaths shallowing with each step as I walked quickly to the nearest bathroom. Camila and the staff were too busy to notice my silent breakdown, but I couldn’t bear the thought of crying alone in the living room, surrounded by luggage that would go nowhere and hopes that’d been shattered too many times to mend properly.

So, so stupid.

What made me think tonight would be different? Our anniversary probably meant as much to Dominic as a random Friday night dinner.

Dull pain sharpened into knives as I locked the bathroom door behind me. My reflection stared back from the mirror. Brown hair, blue eyes, tanned skin. I looked the same as I always did, but I hardly recognized myself. It was like seeing a stranger wear my face.

Where was the girl who’d pushed back against her mother’s modeling dreams for her and insisted on going to college instead? Who’d lived life with unapologetic joy and unbridled optimism, and who’d once dumped a boy for forgetting her birthday? That girl would’ve never sat around waiting for a man. She’d had goals and dreams, but somewhere along the way, they’d fallen by the wayside, consumed by the gravity of her husband’s ambition.

If I pleased him, if I organized the right dinners with the right people, if I made the right connections, I would be useful to him. Years of helping him accomplish his dreams meant I hadn’t lived—I’d served a purpose.

Alessandra Ferreira was gone, replaced by Alessandra Davenport. Wife, hostess, socialite. Someone defined only by her marriage to the Dominic Davenport. Everything I did for the past decade had been for him, and he didn’t even care enough to call and tell me he’d be late for our fucking ten-year anniversary.

The dam burst.

A solitary tear turned into two, then three, then a whole flood as I sank to the floor and cried. Every heartbreak, every disappointment, every piece of sadness and resentment I’d harbored poured out in a river of grief edged with anger. I’d bottled up so much over the years that I was afraid I’d drown beneath the waves of my own emotions.

Cold, hard tile dug into the backs of my thighs. For the first time in forever, I allowed myself to feel, and with that came blinding clarity.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

I couldn’t spend the rest of my days going through the motions and pretending to be happy. I had to take back control of my life—even if it meant destroying the one I currently had.

I was hollow and brittle, a million shattered pieces that hurt too much to pick up.

My sobs eventually slowed then subsided altogether, and before I could second-guess myself, I pushed off the floor and stepped back into the hall. The temperature-controlled penthouse maintained a perfect seventy-three degrees year-round, but tiny shivers wracked my body as I grabbed what I needed from the bedroom. The rest of my essentials were already packed and waiting in the living room.

I didn’t allow myself to think. If I did, I would chicken out, and I couldn’t afford to at this stage.

A familiar sparkle caught my eye when I pulled my suitcase handle up. I stared at my wedding ring, a fresh ache tearing through my chest as it blinked up at me in a seeming plea to reconsider.

I faltered for a split second before I set my jaw, slid the ring off my finger, and placed it next to my and Dominic’s wedding picture on the mantel.

Then I finally did what I should’ve done a long time ago.

I left.

CHAPTER 4

Dominic

“ÁLE!” MY VOICE ECHOED THROUGH THE PENTHOUSE. “I’m home.”

Silence.

My brows dipped. Alessandra usually stayed in the living room until it was time for bed, and it was too early for her to go to sleep. My emergency work meeting had segued into a second emergency meeting after several investors called, panicking about the falling stocks. Still, it was only half past eight. She should be here unless she’d gone out with her friends again.

I tossed my coat on the bronze tree by the door and loosened my tie, trying to ignore the niggling sense that something was wrong. It was hard to think properly during my work-fueled adrenaline crash.

I’d nearly had a heart attack the first time Alessandra went clubbing with Vivian and didn’t tell me. I came home early, didn’t see her, and pictured the worst. I’d called every damn person in my phone book until she finally called me back and reassured me she was okay.

I reached for my cell only to remember it’d died that afternoon. I hadn’t had time to charge it amidst all the chaos.

Dammit.

“Ále!” I called out again. “Where are you, amor?”

Still no answer.

I crossed the living room and took the stairs to the second floor. Forty million dollars bought quite a few perks in Manhattan, including a private elevator entrance, twelve thousand square feet spread over two floors, and sweeping views that encompassed the Hudson River to the south, the George Washington bridge to the north, and New Jersey to the west.

I barely noticed any of it. We wouldn’t live here forever; I already had my eye on a bigger, even more expensive penthouse that was currently under development by the Archer Group. It didn’t matter that I spent only a fraction of my time at home. Real estate was a symbol, and if it wasn’t the best, I didn’t want it.

I opened the doors to the master suite. I expected to see Alessandra curled up in bed or reading in the sitting area, but they were as empty as the living room.

My eyes landed on the suitcase by the closet. It was the one I usually took for short trips. Why—

My blood turned to ice.

DC. Anniversary. Six p.m. No wonder I’d been walking around with an impending sense of dread all evening. I’d forgotten our goddamned wedding anniversary.

“Fuck.” I pulled out my phone only to remember it was dead.

A fresh litany of curses spilled out as I yanked open various drawers, searching for a charger while our conversation from Wednesday night replayed in my head.

Dom. It’s important.

I won’t forget. I promise.

Thick, slimy dread gnawed at my stomach. I’d missed dates before. I wasn’t proud of it, but last-minute emergencies were the nature of my work, and Alessandra always seemed to take it in stride. I had a sinking feeling this time was different, and not only because it was our anniversary.

I finally found a charger and plugged my phone in. After what seemed like an eternity, it gained enough charge to blink on.

Six missed calls from Alessandra, all received between five and eight p.m. Nothing since then.

I tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail. I bit back another curse and pivoted to the second-best option: her friends. I didn’t have their numbers, but luckily, I knew someone who did.

“It’s Dominic,” I said brusquely when Dante picked up my call. “Is Vivian there? I need to talk to her.”

“Good evening to you too,” he drawled. Dante Russo was a friend, a longtime client, and the CEO of the world’s largest luxury conglomerate. Most importantly, he was married to Vivian, whom Alessandra had gotten quite close to over the past year. If anyone knew where my wife was, she did. “Tell me why, exactly, you need to talk to Vivian this late on a Friday night?”

A hint of suspicion leaked into his voice. He was fiercely protective of his wife, which was ironic considering he hadn’t wanted to marry her at all when they initially got engaged.

“It’s about Alessandra.” I didn’t supply any further details. My marriage was none of his damn business.

A short pause greeted my answer. “Hold on.”

“Hello?” Vivian’s elegant, dulcet tones floated over the line two seconds later.

“Is Alessandra with you?” I skipped the niceties and cut straight to the chase. I didn’t care if she thought I was rude; I only cared about finding my wife. It was late, she was upset, and New York was filled with unsavory people. She could be lost or hurt right now.

My gut twisted into knots.

“No,” Vivian said after way too long. “Why?”

“She’s not at home, and it’s not like her to be out this late.” I skipped over the wedding anniversary part. Once again, our marriage was no one else’s business except ours.

“Maybe she’s with Isabella or Sloane.”

Isabella and Sloane. Alessandra’s other friends. I didn’t know them as well as Vivian, but it didn’t matter. I’d talk to the goddamn cat lady who was always falling asleep in our lobby if she had an inkling of where Alessandra was.

Unfortunately, Isabella and Sloane were also clueless to Alessandra’s whereabouts, and my calls after I hung up with them went to voicemail again.

Dammit, Ále. Where are you?

I headed downstairs again and nearly crashed into Camila.

“Mr. Davenport!” Her eyes widened. I’d forgotten she was back from vacation. “Welcome— ”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Alessandra.” The name came out through gritted teeth. I sounded like a damn broken record, but Camila must’ve been here when she left.

“Ah. Mrs. Davenport was quite upset about the missed flight.” The housekeeper’s pursed lips told me exactly what she thought about my tardiness. “I made her favorite soup to cheer her up, but when I came back from the kitchen, she was already gone.”

“You didn’t hear her leave.” My voice was flat. Cold.

“No.” Camila’s eyes darted left and right.

I liked the woman well enough. She was competent, discreet, and one of Alessandra’s favorite staff members, but if she was hiding something from me and Alessandra got hurt as a result…

I went deathly still. “I’m asking you one last time,” I said quietly. Blood roared in my ears, nearly drowning out my words. “Where is my wife?”

A tremble betrayed Camila’s nerves. “I really don’t know, sir. Like I said, I came out and she was gone. But when I was looking for her…” She pulled something from her pocket. “I found this on the mantel.”

A familiar diamond glittered in her palm. Alessandra’s wedding ring.

A sick, sour feeling spread through my stomach.

“I was going to put it in your room,” Camila said. “But considering— ”

“When?”

“About half an hour ago.”

The answer hadn’t fully left her mouth before I grabbed the ring and brushed past her toward the elevator, my pulse pounding with a mix of dread, panic, and something else I couldn’t quite name.

Half an hour. It was nine and Alessandra’s last call to me had been at eight, which meant Camila had found the ring not too long after she left. She couldn’t have gone too far.

My hand closed around the diamond. She wouldn’t have taken it off unless—

No. She was pissed, as she had a right to be, but I’d find her, explain, and everything would go back to normal. Alessandra was the most understanding person I knew; she’d forgive me.

The diamond dug a painful groove in my palm.

Everything will be fine. It had to be. I couldn’t imagine any other alternative.

CHAPTER 5

Alessandra

INSTEAD OF GOING TO ONE OF MY FRIENDS’ HOUSES, I checked into a hotel and paid for the week with cash. I didn’t want Dominic tracing my whereabouts via my credit card. Luckily, I had my own money from Floria Designs and the foresight to stash an emergency bundle at home when the business took off. It was enough to cover the hotel and hold me over while I figured out what to do.

Was leaving without a word the coward’s way out? Probably. But I needed time alone to think, which was why I didn’t update my friends immediately either.

I’d turned my phone off after leaving the penthouse, and I left it off while I unpacked, showered, and tried not to think about the past few hours or the sharp ache in my chest.

“Dom!” I laughed when Dominic stepped into the shower and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. “You’re supposed to be ordering room service.”

“I did order room service.” His mouth trailed over my shoulder and up my neck. Despite the steam clouding the bathroom, goose bumps of pleasure pebbled my skin. “But I decided I want dessert first.”

“What if I don’t agree?” I teased. “Maybe I want to follow the normal order of things. Not all of us can be rule breakers.”

“In that case…” Dominic’s mouth reached the corner of my lips. One hand palmed my breast while the other dipped leisurely between my legs. Pleasure spiraled in my stomach, and I couldn’t hold back a soft sigh. “I’ll just have to find a way to convince you, won’t I?”

I closed my eyes, letting the hot water wash away my tears. We were miles and years away from our first weekend getaway as a couple, but I could almost feel the phantom strength of his embrace. We’d had sex twice in the shower; by the time we came out, our room service meal had been cold, but we hadn’t even cared. We’d devoured the food like it’d been freshly made.

I stayed in the shower longer than I should’ve, but the water, heat, and emotions of the night conspired to pull me under. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was out.

When I woke up the next morning and finally turned on my phone, I had dozens of missed texts, calls, and voicemails from my friends and Dominic. He must’ve reached out to them after he came home and found me missing.

I sent a quick message to the group chat assuring my friends I was okay and that I would tell them everything later before taking a deep breath and opening Dominic’s voicemails.

My heart instantly squeezed at the sound of his voice, which grew increasingly panicked with each message.

Dominic: Where are you?

Dominic: Ále, this isn’t funny.

Dominic: I’m sorry I missed our flight. A work emergency came up and I had to deal with it. We can still make the rest of the trip.

Dominic: Dammit, Alessandra. I understand if you’re mad, but at least let me know you’re okay. I don’t—fuck.

A string of curses blended with the unmistakable patter of rain against concrete in the background. The message’s timestamp read 3:29 a.m. What the hell was he doing out so late?

Looking for you.

I squashed the thought as quickly as it popped up, partly because I didn’t believe the new Dominic would do something like that and partly because it hurt too much to think he would.

His last message was two hours ago at 6:23 a.m.

Dominic: Call me back. Please.

The squeeze in my chest became unbearable. I wasn’t ready to face him, but sleep had cleared last night’s emotional fog, and the desperation in his voice eroded my earlier vow to avoid him until I had a plan. It was better to see him and rip the Band-Aid off, so to speak, than let the uncertainty fester.

“Violet Hotel.” I didn’t give him a chance to speak when he picked up. “Lower East Side.”