Part 2The Canary Cashed Out

The air inside the car froze.

Damian’s fingers tightened so hard on my jaw that I heard the faint grind of teeth. He looked at me as if I had suddenly morphed into a total stranger.

"What did you just say?"

I opened my eyes, meeting his glare with absolute calm.

"Being a secret mistress is a high-risk occupation, Mr. Rhodes," I said evenly. "I have to secure my future."

I had deliberately named an outrageous figure. I wanted him to scoff, lose interest, and discard me.

He stared at me for a long time—so long that I genuinely thought he was going to shove me out into the oncoming traffic.

Instead, he let go, pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, and lit a cigarette.

The blue flame cast sharp, predatory angles across his jawline.

"Ten million," he exhaled, smoke curling between us. "It’ll be wired to your account tomorrow."

I sat in the dark, my plans for an early retirement momentarily derailed by his sheer stubbornness.

The following afternoon, Damian’s chauffeur dropped me off at an exclusive bridal salon downtown.

I assumed I was there to sign a supplemental nondisclosure agreement. But when I pushed open the double doors, I saw Shirley standing before the grand three-way mirror.

She was wearing an intricate, floor-length mermaid gown.

It was the exact design I had tried on weeks ago.

Except the gown she wore was the authentic couture piece, not the eight-hundred-dollar replica I’d commissioned from the garment district.

Damian sat on a plush leather sofa nearby, scrolling through a tablet.

"Corinne, you’re here," Shirley called out, turning around with an arch smile. "Damian mentioned you were familiar with their collection. I wanted your input."

It was a territorial display so unsubtle it was almost amateurish.

I walked over, letting my eyes graze over the sea of French lace. "Miss Lancaster has a stunning figure. The cut flatters you completely."

Shirley smiled, taking a deliberate step forward. The heavy train bunched unevenly on the velvet rug.

"Would you mind smoothing the hem for me?" she asked.

That was the stylist's job. But the three salon attendants remained frozen in place, none of them daring to move.

I sank onto my knees.

With my palms resting flat against the carpet, I began to smooth out the layered fabric inch by inch, performing the role of the dutiful, defeated maid to perfection.

Above me came a soft, triumphant snort from Shirley.

Suddenly, the tablet slammed onto the glass coffee table.

"Enough," Damian barked, his voice laced with raw irritation.

He marched across the room, seized my wrist, and hauled me up from the floor with startling force.

Shirley gasped. "Damian, what is it?"

"Let the staff handle the dress," he said without looking at her. His eyes were locked entirely on my face. "You. Outside. Now."

He dragged me down the hallway and shoved me into a private VIP fitting room, slamming the door shut behind us.

He pinned me against the heavy wood, his breathing ragged and hot against my skin.

"Corinne, do you have any self-respect left at all?"

I looked up into his bloodshot eyes, genuinely perplexed by his outrage.

"Miss Lancaster is going to be your wife. Is it wrong for me to help adjust her train?"

He gritted his teeth, his chest heaving.

The old Corinne would have thrown a tearful tantrum if another woman so much as glanced at her belongings.

The present Corinne had just smiled, knelt, and smoothed the hem of the woman who stole her wedding.

"Are you that desperate for money?" he hissed, his anger barely contained. "Ten million dollars, and you throw away every shred of dignity you have?"

I let the tears gather in the corners of my eyes, tapping into the precise frequency of fragile submission that kept men like him hooked.

"Pride doesn't buy a home on the ridge, Mr. Rhodes," I whispered, my voice trembling. "And it certainly never bought me a single second of your genuine affection."

I gave a small, resigned shrug. "Since I’ve already lost everything else, I might as well hold on to what's tangible."

He froze.

The words seemed to strike an unprotected nerve deep inside him. His grip slackened, and he took a slow step back, an unreadable storm brewing behind his eyes.

"I will compensate you," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

I shook my head. Reaching down, I slowly worked the tight emerald cuff off my bruised wrist and set it on the marble side table.

For the first time in three years, I spoke the unvarnished truth.

"I’ve had enough compensation, Mr. Rhodes. All I want is for you to let me walk away once the ceremony is over."