Over the following weeks, she began moving discreetly. First small adjustments: disentangling her name from joint ventures, contacting a Swiss banking advisor through a number Dorian did not have, and creating new corporations registered under layers of trusteeship. Each transfer was a whisper, invisible in the roar of daily transactions.
“I will be going to the spa this afternoon,” she told him one Friday, kissing him on the cheek.
Instead, she entered a discreet Geneva office with thick glass doors, presenting her documents and opening an account no one could trace back. By the time she walked out, she felt an armor settling over her.
At home, Dorian began showing signs of his secret game. He locked his office, scrolled property listings for bachelor penthouses in Barcelona, and test-drove Aston Martins. One evening, he poured himself whiskey and remarked, “Divorces can ruin people when they lose their heads. Luckily, I am level-headed.”
Elara smiled softly and replied, “Of course you are.”