Three years ago, in his ruthless quest to become the Aldridge heir, he used corporate espionage to destroy his competitor.
And like every man with power, he already had a scapegoat in mind.
That night, he texted me. My stomach hurts.
Worried, I hurried to the estate with warm soup in hand.
But the moment I stepped inside, the lights went out, and a pair of hands shoved me hard to the ground.
“So it’s you! What are you doing here in the middle of the night?!”
When the lights flickered back on, the room was packed with police, prosecutors, company executives, and Jaxon. He stood across from me, his expression cold and void of anything human.
“It was her. She stole our company’s secrets.”
A policeman stepped forward. “Liora Whitmore, we have concrete evidence. Do you confess?”
This was my 98th deed, only two steps away from the end.
I smiled and answered clearly, “I confess.”
I was sentenced to three years. No one came. Not a single visit. The guards and staff treated me like trash, like something rotting behind bars.
“They say she’s the reason the Aldridge family lost millions.”
“She even dragged Jaxon’s name through the mud. Disgusting woman.”