Chapter 4Inheritance Betrayal And Cold Revenge

Three days passed. The watch didn’t return.

Madeline claimed Dominic was out of town on a business trip and would return it next week.

Next week. Always next week.

I didn’t argue. Instead, I did something else.

On Friday afternoon, I used a burner phone to call Dominic’s assistant. I identified myself as a senior associate from a major auction house and requested a private meeting for Monday at 3:00 PM to discuss a "portfolio expansion."

Monday.

Dominic’s office was on the 52nd floor of a glass-and-steel tower in the Financial District. The receptionist, a young woman in a sharp blazer, led me into a sleek conference room.

“Mr. Stone will be with you momentarily.”

I waited ten minutes.

The door opened. Dominic was even more polished in person than in his photos. His hair was jet black, his suit a deep navy, his shoes Italian leather.

And on his left wrist sat the Rolex.

My eyes lingered there for two seconds. He noticed.

“Hello. You’re from the auction house?” He sat down opposite me, crossing his legs with an easy, practiced grace.

“Adrian Sterling.”

His expression didn't flicker at first.

“And what can I do for you, Adrian?”

I slid my business card across the table. He picked it up, glanced at it, and set it down.

“Adrian,” he repeated the name, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “That name sounds familiar.”

“I imagine Madeline mentioned it.”

The air in the room seemed to solidify.

“Madeline?” His smile deepened, becoming something sharper, more predatory. “You know her?”

“She’s my wife.”

The conference room went silent for exactly three seconds. Dominic tapped his fingers twice against the mahogany table.

“No wonder the name rang a bell.”

He looked down at the watch on his wrist, making no move to hide it or take it off.

“Are you here to ask for it back?”

“I’m here to reclaim my property.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a look of pure, unadulterated condescension. It was almost pity.

“Mr. Sterling, let me give you some advice.” He stood up, adjusting his cuffs to reveal even more of the watch face. “In this world, once something is given away, you don’t get it back. That goes for watches. And it goes for people.”

I stared at his wrist. The back of the watch was against his skin, but I knew what was etched there.

Für meinen einzigen Stern.

“Dominic,” I said, standing up to meet his height. “The serial number on that piece is 003. The Geneva Seal certification number is GS-2017-0389. The movement sequence is PP240-81726. All of that is recorded in my deed of ownership.”

His eyes shifted. Just for a heartbeat. Then the mask of composure returned.

“You’re a fascinating man, Adrian.” He picked up his phone. “But honestly, this is a conversation you should be having with your wife, not me. Are you even sure you understand the state of your own marriage?”

He turned and walked out, his leather soles echoing with a steady, arrogant rhythm against the marble floor.

I stood in that empty room, listening until the sound of his footsteps vanished.

Are you even sure you understand the state of your own marriage?

The question felt like a nail being driven into my skull.

On the cab ride back, I pulled out my phone and accessed the records for Madeline’s secondary credit card.