Chapter 65
Laura's POV
"Who sent the report?" I pulled back, wiping my eyes. "Who the hell knew to send a DNA test to your family?"
"I don't know." But something flickered in his expression. "Maybe someone close to us..."
"Laura, I need you to do something. Stop talking to your old friends. Especially Stella. Until I figure out who—"
"You suspect my friends?" The realization hit me like ice water.
Richard's face went carefully blank.
"You should suspect Grace most of all—"
Richard's face froze. "Grace? That's impossible—"
"Why impossible?" I was pacing now, my mind racing. "Think about it, Richard. She suddenly moved out. Suddenly became tough, demanding shares, demanding power. She's no longer that submissive fake wife. And now, suddenly, your family receives Emma's DNA report?"
"This is ridiculous. If she knew about us, why wouldn't she make a scene, why not expose us directly? And my marriage with her has no legal validity. Once divorced, she'll have nothing."
"Richard, it's Grace! She's getting revenge on us!" I trusted my instincts.
"I need to go." Richard wasn't listening to me. He pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. "I'll arrange a visa for you. Student visa, or work visa. Something legitimate. I'll cover all the expenses—apartment, living costs, everything. You won't have to worry about money."
"Richard—"
"I'll figure this out." He was already heading for the door. "I promise, Laura. Just give me time."
"How much time?" I grabbed his arm. "How long am I supposed to just sit in some foreign country and wait for you to decide I'm convenient again?"
"As long as it takes." He pulled free, not looking back. "I'm sorry. I really am. But this is the only way."
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood there for five seconds. Ten.
Then I grabbed the nearest thing—a crystal water glass—and hurled it at the door. It exploded in a shower of glittering shards.
"FUCK YOU!" I screamed at the empty apartment. "FUCK YOUR FAMILY! FUCK YOUR GRANDMOTHER! FUCK ALL OF YOU!"
I collapsed on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, and sobbed until my throat was raw.
Harrison family should all die, I thought venomously. Every single one of them. And Grace—that smug bitch who stole my place—she should die first.
---
Hours later, I was still on the floor. My eyes felt like sandpaper. My throat hurt from screaming.
My phone buzzed.
I almost ignored it. But something made me look.
It was the alumni group chat—old college friends, the ones who still got together for networking brunches and charity galas.
Congrats to Kevin on the promotion! someone had posted. Youngest senior investigative reporter at Starport Tribune! Killing it, man!
Kevin.
I stared at the name, my exhausted brain slowly grinding through memories.
Kevin Martinez. Journalism major. Always had his nose in everyone's business back in college. I'd helped him once.
He'd been so grateful. Said he owed me.
And Kevin had also... what was it?
Oh.
Kevin had been obsessed with Grace back in college. Followed her around like a puppy, wrote her terrible poetry, the whole nine yards.
Until she rejected him. Publicly. At his award ceremony, no less.
Men never forget that kind of humiliation.
And now Kevin was a senior reporter with major platform resources.
Perfect.
I pulled up his contact and hit call.
"Laura Parker?" His voice was deeper now, more confident. "Damn, how long has it been? Six years?"
"Almost seven!" I injected warmth into my tone. "Kevin, oh my God, I just saw about your promotion! Congratulations!"
"Yeah, I'm pretty proud of it myself." He laughed. "What's up? This isn't just a congratulations call, is it?"
"I've been thinking about the old days. About everyone from college." I paused. "Do you remember Grace Wilson?"
Silence. Long, heavy silence.
"Yeah." His voice went flat. "I remember Grace."
There it is.
"I ran into her recently," I continued carefully. "She's married now. Goes by Grace Harrison. Works at Harrison Group."
"Kevin, I need to tell you something. About Grace. About what she's really like." I lowered my voice and continued. "You deserved better than how she treated you back then. And I think you deserve to know the truth about her."
"What truth?"
I could hear the edge of interest in his voice. The old wound tearing open.
"Grace hasn't changed, Kevin. If anything, she's gotten worse." I stood up, pacing my apartment. "She's been using her looks to manipulate business deals. I worked with her—I saw it. Late-night 'meetings' with investors at hotels. Private dinners where she'd touch their arms, laugh at their jokes, play them like instruments."
"That's a serious accusation."
"It's the truth." I made my voice tremble slightly. "She got me fired for knowing too much. She's sleeping her way through Starport's business elite, Kevin. Using men and throwing them away—just like she did to you."
His breathing changed. Got faster.
"I'm saying she's a corporate escort hiding behind designer suits and a fake sweet act. She seduces investors for her husband's company, then moves on to the next target. Everyone's so blinded by that pretty face they can't see what she really is."
"Jesus Christ."
"Kevin, she is a manipulative bitch. She's just better at hiding it now." I paused for effect. "I think someone needs to expose her before she destroys more lives. Someone brave enough to tell the truth."
The silence stretched. I could almost hear him thinking. Remembering. Burning.
"What are you asking me to do?"
"Write about it. How she uses men and throws them away. How she's still doing it—on a much bigger, more dangerous scale." I softened my voice. "Kevin, you're an investigative reporter now. This is the kind of story that makes careers."
"I'd need evidence. Sources."
"I can provide everything." My heart pounded. "Photos. Documents. Testimony from people who've seen her in action. Kevin? If you do this, I'll make it worth your while. I'll introduce you to Richard Harrison personally—he knows so many people in Starport's tech and finance world. Could open every door you've ever wanted."
"I don't know, Laura—"
"One hundred thousand dollars. Cash. Transferred to your account right now."
I heard his sharp intake of breath.
"Plus the connections. Plus the biggest story of your career." I went in for the kill. "Think about it. 'From Campus Heartbreaker to Corporate Climber: The Real Grace Wilson.' It'll go viral. Your name will be everywhere. And Grace—the girl who humiliated you, made you transfer schools, never even apologized—she'll finally get what she deserves."
The silence lasted thirty seconds.
"Send me what you have," Kevin finally said. "No promises. But I'll look at it."
"Check your bank account first."
I transferred the money immediately. One hundred thousand dollars—my entire emergency fund—vanished in seconds.
"Holy shit," Kevin breathed. "Laura—"
"Just tell the truth, Kevin. That's all I'm asking. Tell the truth about who Grace Wilson really is."
I hung up and immediately started fabricating evidence. Edited photos of Grace at business dinners, cropped to look intimate. Fake text messages. A completely fictional account of her "confessing" her tactics to me.
It took three hours.
I sent everything with one message: She destroyed you once. Don't let her do it to anyone else.