Chapter 9 - The Second Visitor
"Don't sign it, Annie."
A harsh, breathless voice echoed across the drafting room.
I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Standing in the doorway, drenched from the light drizzle outside and panting as if he had run all the way up the four flights of stairs, was Ryan.
His sharp navy tuxedo was wrinkled, his bowtie was undone and hanging loosely around his collar, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild. He didn't look like a successful architect, nor did he look like a groom celebrating a wedding day. He looked like a shattered ghost.
"Ryan?" I breathed out, taking a step backward. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
"Your cousin... she called me," Ryan gasped, clutching his side as he walked unsteadily into the room. He ignored Marcus entirely, his desperate gaze locked solely onto my face. "She said you drove downtown alone after getting a suspicious text. Annie, you can't trust Marcus. He's not trying to help you."
Marcus stood up slowly from the desk, his expression hardening into a cold glare. "I'm the only reason she has a chance of keeping her house, Ryan. Unlike you, who handed our entire corporate portfolio to a criminal syndicate because you were too blind to see what your new bride was doing behind your back."
"Shut up!" Ryan roared, lunging forward with a sudden burst of frantic energy, slamming his palm down on the edge of the desk. He turned back to me, tears welling in his eyes. "Annie, please... listen to me. I was a fool. I was arrogant, I was selfish, and I ruined our family. I know that. But I never knew about the syndicate money. Claire lied to me. She forged my signature on the primary ledger using old notary seals from when we first incorporated."
I stared at him, feeling an icy numbness wash over every nerve in my body. Thirteen years of marriage, four children, a life built on blueprints and shared dreams—and now it had all dissolved into a pathetic game of finger-pointing between two men who had betrayed everything I believed in.
"You signed the papers, Ryan," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "You chose her over your children. You stood at an altar and tried to replace me while I was carrying our fifth child. Don't talk to me about lies now."
"I know," Ryan sobbed, his shoulders shaking as the last of his defiant armor crumbled completely. He sank down onto a nearby drafting stool, burying his face in his hands. "I lost everything today, Annie. Claire was arrested. The feds are freezing my accounts tonight. The house is going to be seized by morning."
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"Not my house," I said firmly, picking up the pen from the desk.
I pulled the tort separation waiver toward me, flicked to the signature page, and pressed the tip of the pen against the paper.
