Chapter 3

The safety deposit box was empty.

Those heavy gold bars engraved with "L.A.," along with the custom velvet-lined case—gone.

Really taken.

Daniel did this. Last Thursday. All that talk about "transfer verification"—total bullshit.

A surge of ice-cold rage shot through me, overwhelming the initial shock.

I took a deep breath and slammed the box door shut.

I needed records. Evidence. I needed to know what else he'd touched. I turned around, ready to request all related transaction logs.

Just as I was striding out of the vault area, crossing the corridor connecting to the VIP lounge, the bank's glass entrance doors opened.

Two women walked in, chatting and laughing, arms linked, intimate as mother and daughter.

My footsteps stopped dead.

It was Bianca. And my mother-in-law, Margaret.

Bianca wore the latest designer pieces, radiant and glowing. Margaret's face bore a smile I rarely saw—almost fawning—as she leaned in to listen to Bianca speak, even gently patting the back of her hand.

How were they together? This close?

Bianca's gaze swept casually across the lobby, then—like radar locking onto prey—zeroed in on me with precision.

The smile on her face didn't change, but her eyes transformed instantly, filled with undisguised mockery and condescending triumph.

She'd clearly recognized me from my profile photos—the "crazy internet woman" she'd mentioned.

She murmured something to Margaret, then, with an almost provocatively elegant posture, walked straight toward me with Margaret in tow.

When Margaret saw me, her expression visibly stiffened, a flash of panic crossing her face, but she didn't withdraw her arm. Instead, she straightened her back.

"Wow." Bianca stopped in front of me, releasing Margaret and crossing her arms, looking me up and down like something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "Real-world encounter? Didn't see that coming. Stalking me all the way to the bank?"

Her voice was crisp, deliberately surprised, loud enough to attract the attention of a few scattered people nearby.

I looked at her, said nothing. Then looked at Margaret. My mother-in-law avoided my gaze.

"What, cat got your tongue?" Bianca's smile sweetened, but her words were poisoned needles. "Online you had plenty to say, didn't you? Came all the way here to get a good look at what you've been dreaming about? See if it's real? Or maybe you thought if you played the victim here, my boyfriend would feel sorry for you?"

"Watch your language," I heard my own voice, cold and hard. "This is a bank."

"A bank? Yeah, I know." Bianca made an exaggerated show of looking around, then her gaze landed back on my face, dripping with pity. "This is where Daniel and I handle our asset matters. What are you doing here? Pretending you're a client too? Or... planning to put on a sob story so when security escorts you out, you'll look even more pathetic?"

Margaret finally spoke, her tone a nauseating attempt at "smoothing things over": "Alright, Bianca, that's enough." She looked at me, brow furrowed with reproach. "Elena, you really shouldn't be here."

Shouldn't be here? I was checking my own assets, and my mother-in-law was telling me I was out of place?

Bianca, hearing Margaret's words, got even more emboldened.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough to ensure I caught every vicious word:

"Listen... ma'am? Auntie? Whatever. I'll be straight with you. Daniel loves me. He's willing to give me everything."

"Those things you saw—the house, the gold—he gave them all to me personally. He said there are people from his past who refuse to accept reality, living like jokes. My advice? Wake up. Stop having those gold-digger fantasies. You," her gaze swept over my outfit, "and that shabby little life of yours—he can't even stand to look at it."

She paused, then lifted a victor's smile:

"I'm here today helping Margaret with some business. Didn't expect to run into you. Maybe it's fate—letting you see with your own eyes the gap between you and us. Do yourself a favor and disappear. Makes life easier for everyone. If you insist on clinging desperately, and end up humiliated in public when the truth comes out, you'll only have yourself to blame."

Margaret stood beside her, not contradicting the "Auntie" title, even nodding slightly, echoing the dismissive intent in Bianca's words.

She stood completely on Bianca's side at this moment, using silence and glances to urge me to leave.

They stood side by side—one young and arrogant, posturing as the rightful queen; the other older and hypocritical, silently permitting and enabling.

And I stood opposite them, the pathetic "crazy woman" trying to "climb above her station," "desperately clinging" in their eyes.

My empty safety deposit box still stood cold and hollow behind me.

I looked at the clearly expensive diamond necklace around her neck, at Margaret's undisguised favoritism toward her, at their linked arms.

All the scattered clues—Daniel taking the gold bars ahead of time, Margaret's eager "clarification" in the group chat, Bianca's brazen display in her video, and now their tandem appearance with their mockery—instantly assembled into a picture so clear it was cruel.

This wasn't just an affair.

This was a premeditated, sanctioned plunder.

And they didn't even bother to hide it in front of me.