My arrogant ex kicked me to the marble floor of a luxury mall because he thought I was a poor vagrant blocking his way. He had no idea I am married to the city's most ruthless ghost.

Marco unlocked the doors.

The silence in the boutique was absolute as Trevor stumbled to his feet. He could barely stand. His expensive suit was covered in dust from the floor. His face was streaked with tears and snot. The arrogant senior associate was gone. In his place stood a broken, trembling boy.

He looked at me. Then at Roman. Then at the three men blocking his path.

“Go,” Roman said. “But know this—every step you take from this moment on is watched. Every call you make. Every email you send. Every lie you tell. I see all of it. And if you ever come within a hundred feet of my wife again… you will wish I had killed you today.”

Trevor did not need to be told twice. He practically ran out of the store, his shoulders hunched, his eyes darting wildly as if he expected to be shot in the back at any second.

I watched him go.

I felt… nothing.

No triumph. No satisfaction. No lingering anger. Just a strange, peaceful emptiness. Like a splinter that had been festering under my skin for three years had finally been pulled out.

Roman turned to me. All the hardness vanished from his face. He reached out, his hand cupping my cheek so gently it might have been a butterfly.

“Let me see your leg,” he said.

I rolled up my jeans. The skin on my calf was already turning an ugly purple and red, shaped exactly like the toe of Trevor’s dress shoe. My shoulder was scraped raw where it had hit the glass.

Roman’s jaw tightened. I felt the anger ripple through him again, hot and fierce. But he tamped it down. For me.

“Marco,” he said, without taking his eyes off my injuries. “Call Dr. Hale. Have him meet us at the house. And tell the team to begin on Trevor. I want it done by the end of business today.”

“Understood, sir,” Marco said. He and the other two men melted back into the crowd of the mall, invisible again.

The sales associate slowly emerged from behind the counter. She was still shaking.

“I—I am so sorry, Mrs. Voss,” she stammered. “I should have done something. I should have called security immediately. I just—”

I held up a hand to stop her.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Really. You didn’t know who I was. And he was… intimidating. I don’t blame you for freezing.”

I glanced at the display case beside me. The rhodium cufflinks still sparkled inside.

“I’ll take those,” I said, nodding at them. “And whatever is the most expensive necklace you have in the store. Something with sapphires.”

The girl blinked. Then she scrambled into action, her hands shaking as she opened the case.

Ten minutes later, we walked out of the boutique. I carried a small velvet bag in one hand. Roman’s arm was wrapped firmly around my waist.

We had not taken ten steps into the main galleria when I saw Trevor again.

He was standing near the central fountain, his phone pressed to his ear, gesturing wildly. He had already pulled himself together somewhat. He was shouting into the phone, red-faced.

“I don’t care what it takes!” he yelled. “Get me the best lawyer in the city. No—get me three! That man is a monster! He threatened me! He locked me in a store! I’ll sue the mall! I’ll sue him! I’ll own everything he has by the time I’m—”

He stopped.

Because a man in an expensive suit—older, silver-haired, important-looking—was marching toward him, flanked by two security guards.

Trevor’s face lit up with hope.

“Mr. Harrison!” he called out, waving. “Thank God you’re here. You won’t believe what just happened. This psychopath—”

The older man did not slow down. He walked straight up to Trevor and held out an envelope.

“Clear out your desk by five o’clock,” Mr. Harrison said. His voice was cold, clipped, final. “Your building access has already been revoked. Your company email has been deactivated. Do not contact any clients. Do not speak to anyone at the firm ever again. If you want a reference, you will get a standard ‘employment confirmed’ letter and nothing more.”

Trevor stared at the envelope like it was a dead animal.

“W-what?” he stammered. “Mr. Harrison, I don’t understand. I’m your top biller. I brought in the Westside account just last week—”

“You also assaulted the wife of Roman Voss in a public place,” Harrison interrupted. He leaned in, his voice dropping so only Trevor could hear, but I read his lips perfectly. “Do you have any idea how close you just came to getting all of us killed? Voss called me personally ten minutes ago. He gave me a choice—fire you immediately, or every single one of our offshore accounts gets audited by the IRS tomorrow morning. Every partner in this firm goes to prison. So consider yourself lucky, Trevor. You lost a job. We almost lost everything.”

He stepped back.

“Security will escort you to your desk and then out of the building,” he said. “Do not make this harder than it already is.”

He turned and walked away without another glance.

Trevor stood frozen, the termination letter dangling from his fingers. His mouth hung open. The color had completely left his face.

Then his phone rang.

He fumbled it to his ear.

“Hello?” he said. His voice cracked.

Whatever the person on the other end said made him stagger backward until he sat down hard on the edge of the fountain.

“The penthouse?” he whispered. “What do you mean they’re foreclosing? I made the payment last week—what do you mean the payment bounced? All of them? Every account is frozen? But that’s impossible—”

He listened for another ten seconds. Then he slowly lowered the phone. He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.

I watched from twenty feet away.

Roman’s hand tightened on my waist.

“His bank accounts,” Roman said quietly. “Every single one. Frozen. The IRS flagged them for suspicious activity. Coincidentally, of course. His mortgage company called in the loan. His car is being repossessed as we speak. His credit score just dropped four hundred points. He will not rent an apartment in this city for less than two thousand dollars a month upfront, and he has exactly forty-seven dollars in cash in his wallet right now.”

I looked at Roman.

“You know exactly how much cash he has?” I asked.

Roman smiled slightly. “I know everything about everyone who threatens you, angel.”

Trevor stood up slowly. He looked dazed. He started walking toward the exit, stumbling like a drunk. He passed a store window and caught sight of his reflection. He stopped, staring at himself—at the dusty suit, the red eyes, the ruined hair.

His phone rang again. He answered it mechanically.

“Hello?”

This time, the reaction was different. His face twisted. He shouted.

“Tiffany? You’re breaking up with me? Now? After everything I’ve done for you? That apartment you live in—I paid the deposit! That bag you carry—I bought it! You can’t just—”

She hung up on him.

Trevor stared at the phone. Then, with a scream of rage, he hurled it into the fountain. It hit the water with a loud splash and sank to the bottom.

He stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, surrounded by shoppers who stared and whispered and took videos with their phones.

Then his shoulders slumped. All the fight went out of him. He looked small. Defeated. Exactly what I had asked for.

He started walking again. Toward the exit. Toward whatever was left of his life.

He did not see us.

He never even looked our way.

Roman leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked.

I watched Trevor disappear through the glass doors of the mall.

“Yes,” I said. And I meant it. “More than satisfied.”

“Good.” Roman turned me toward the escalator. “Now let’s go home. Dr. Hale is waiting. And then I am going to spend the rest of the day reminding you exactly how loved you are. No more ex-boyfriends. No more malls. Just us.”

I leaned into him as we stepped onto the moving stairs.

The cufflinks and the sapphire necklace were in the bag at my side. But they were just things. Pretty, shiny things that would sit in a drawer and be forgotten.

What I really had—what Trevor would never have—walked beside me. Solid. Real. Mine.

Three years ago, I had thought my life ended when Trevor walked out with my last six hundred dollars.