Page 215 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
I closed the door behind him—quietly. Not because I wasn’t tempted to slam it, but because I didn’t trust myself not to shatter the glass.
“My soon-to-be ex-wife.”
Conrad didn’t flinch. He simply moved to the chairs, dropped into one, and waited for me to sit.
“You’ve got an airtight prenup,” he reminded me. “Infidelity clause. Full forfeiture. It’s bulletproof.”
“I want no-contest divorce papers in front of her by tomorrow.” I stayed standing, scotch in hand, pulse jackhammering under my skin. “She signs. No theatrics. No mediation. Just her signature and her naked ass out the door. I can get her to sign—I just need to dangle a carrot in front of the greedy whore.”
“Understood,” he replied smoothly, already pulling out his phone. “What leverage are we using?”
I took a slow sip, letting the burn roll down my throat like punishment. The kind you welcome, just to remind yourself you’re still breathing.
“She’s fucking her married boss.”
That got his attention. His fingers paused mid-type.
“You’ve got proof?”
I laughed. It was hollow. The kind of laugh that doesn’t come from amusement—just the kind that bubbles up when the last crack finally splits the dam.
“Nine years’ worth,” I said. “Emails. Dates. Times. Hotels. Multiple men. Even the fucking name of the cologne one of the bastards wore.”
Conrad looked up.
What I saw on his face wasn’t shock. It was pity.
And that pissed me off more than anything else.
My jaw clenched. My nostrils flared. I stepped closer, leaned down slightly.
“Destroy her,” I said, voice low and lethal. “By any means necessary.”
Then I drained the rest of the scotch and set the glass down with the calm of a man about to go to war.
“She’s due to leave for Edinburgh,” I said, sliding the paper across the table. “Four-day conference. She’s going with a team. Her boss will be there. I want video, photos, room numbers—every fucking detail.”
Conrad picked up the sheet, scanned the names, dates, and address, then took a picture of it with his phone.
“I’ll get a top-tier PI on it. Discreet, thorough, expensive.”
“Good. I want every inch of her filth uncovered. Every lie. Every fuck. I want to see her lies on screen before I throw them back in her face.”
I stood and walked over to the bar, refilling my glass, the amber liquid catching the light like something sacred.
“Drink?”
Conrad blew out a breath and nodded.
“Yeah. I think this one calls for it.”
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“This isn’t our usual type of bar,” Eris muttered, her nose wrinkling as she scanned the worn pub interior. Her designer heels stuck slightly to the floor as she walked in, and she looked around like the whole place offended her senses.
I pulled a chair back for her. The wooden legs scraped across the sticky floor, grating against years of spilled drinks and bad decisions.
“I’m just avoiding the limelight,” I said mildly, masking the cold precision beneath my smile.
