Chapter 4: Shattered Glass and Stolen Keys

POV: Elise

Smash.

A Baccarat crystal highball glass explodes against the white minimalist fireplace. Gleaming shards rain down on the pristine marble hearth like diamond dust.

I barely flinch. I just keep pouring the gin, my hand steady despite the chaos.

Smash.

The second one misses a Renaissance painting by an inch. The heavy thud of the base hitting the wall vibrates through the floorboards.

"Ashley, babe, stop," I say, keeping my voice level as I slide a fresh martini across the kitchen island. The olive bobs in the clear liquid. "You’re in your second trimester. Your doctor specifically said no spiked blood pressure. Think about the baby."

Ashley whirls on me. Her blonde hair is a wild, tangled halo, her silk robe slipping off one pale shoulder. She looks like a tragic, unhinged goddess. Beautiful, but entirely broken.

"Think about the baby?" she shrieks, her voice raw and cracking. "How can I think about anything else when the father of my child just spent the day parading some generic, faceless society whore in front of every camera in Northern California?"

I wince, walking over to press the cold glass into her shaking hand. "Look, we knew the Morelle syndicate was breathing down his neck. Belcher is the head of the family now. His mother, the traditional c they demanded a political union to clean up the image."

"Strategic optics!" Ashley screeches, taking a massive gulp, completely ignoring her pregnancy restrictions. "That’s exactly what his slimy lawyer called it! A legal contract to satisfy the old guard. A trophy to sit at charity dinners and smile for the paparazzi."

She drops the glass onto the coffee table. It doesn't break, but the sharp clack echoes in the penthouse. Real, ugly tears track through her expensive foundation, ruining the flawless makeup she’d applied just hours ago.

"He looked me in the eye this morning," she whispers, her chest heaving. "Before he left for the cathedral. He said she’s just a blank space. A political charity case. He said I’m his true love, that our son is his only real heir."

I wrap my arm around her trembling shoulders, rubbing her back in slow circles. It breaks my heart. Ashley has been my best friend since college. She’s fierce, proud, and she’s been secretly dating this mysterious billionaire for two years. To see him throw her in the shadows the moment she got pregnant makes my blood boil.

"But then I saw the live broadcast," she chokes out, her manicured nails digging painfully into my arm. "I saw the way he held her during their first dance. His hand was on her waist like he owned her. It didn’t look like optics, Elise. It looked like... possession."

"Hey. Look at me." I gently pull her back so she has to meet my gaze. Her eyes are bloodshot, swimming in despair. "Men like Belcher Morelle don't know how to love. They only know how to conquer. He’s playing a part for the media. But you? You have the real leverage. You are carrying his bloodline."

Ashley wipes her nose with the back of her hand. The vulnerability in her eyes melts away, replaced by a cold, toxic venom. "You're right. She’s just a temporary asset. A placeholder."

"Exactly," I say, stoking the fire. "We are going to find out exactly who this mystery bride is. I don't care how much money his legal team spent scrubbing her name from the registry. I have connections at the city registrar. I can dig up the marriage certificate by tomorrow."

"And then what?" Ashley asks. A dark, dangerous spark ignites in her red-rimmed eyes.

"And then we systematically ruin her life," I say with a sharp, casual smile. "We leak her past scandals. We target her family’s businesses. We make her such a massive liability that his mother will beg him to throw her out on the street. By the time we're done, Belcher will have no choice but to annul the marriage and bring you into the light."

Ashley lets out a breathless, hysterical laugh. "You'd do that for me?"

"I'd burn the city down for you, Ash. You know that."

She stares at me, her chest rising and falling as the gin starts to hit her bloodstream. The frantic energy in the room shifts. The heartbreak is calcifying into something much harder. Something lethal.

"We need to get inside his head," she murmurs, her mind clearly racing. She pulls away from me and walks over to her designer handbag sitting by the door. "We need to know what he’s telling her. What he’s doing when he’s not with me."

"Is the mansion completely locked down?" I ask, leaning against the counter. "I thought his security detail doesn't let anyone near the private suites without biometric clearance."

"For the main penthouse? Yes." Ashley digs deep into the inner satin lining of her purse. Her fingers search for something hidden in a secret zippered compartment. "But Belcher underestimates me. He thinks because I’m pregnant, I’m just nesting in the luxury west wing he sets up for me."

She pulls her hand out. Her fingers are pinching a small, sleek piece of plastic.

It’s an unmarked, matte-black electronic keycard with a glowing holographic strip running down the center.

My stomach drops. The air in the room suddenly feels ten degrees colder. "Ash... what is that?"

A vicious, triumphant smile breaks across her face, completely transforming her tear-stained features. The crying pregnant girl is gone. The mafia mistress is back.

"A duplicate keycard to the Morelle estate’s private eastern wing," she purrs, her voice dropping to a youthful, lethal whisper.

I step closer, my pulse hammering in my throat. "You didn't."

"I did."

"Ashley, that's the restricted residential quarter. If his tech team catches you cloning a bypass card, they won't just fire you. They'll kill you."

"The head of his tech security used to have a massive crush on me," she says dismissively, twirling the card between her fingers. "Before Belcher had him reassigned to the docks. I made him clone this for me a month ago as a safety precaution. This little card bypasses the primary perimeter gates and opens the service elevator directly into the wing. The security protocols think it belongs to a senior logistics coordinator."

I stare at the black card, a sudden chill running down my spine. The stakes of the game Ashley is playing are incredibly high. We’re not just talking about cheating billionaires anymore. We’re dealing with the literal underworld of San Francisco. One wrong move, and we end up at the bottom of the bay.

"If that card works," I whisper, a thrill of adrenaline hitting my veins, "we don't just find out who she is. We can watch her every move."

"Exactly." Ashley laughs, a sharp, casual sound that echoes off the glass walls. She steps into the golden light of the chandelier, holding the card up like a trophy. "Let's see how long the new queen lasts when I'm holding the keys to her castle."

She wipes the last tear from her cheek, her eyes locking onto mine with pure, unadulterated malice.

"And sooner or later," she whispers softly, "that new wife is going to wish she never met him.”