Honolulu was bright when Aaron's flight landed.
The ocean beyond the resort glittered under the afternoon sun, and the executives of Vanguard Dynamics behaved as though they had arrived at an ordinary corporate retreat.
Aaron sat at the center of the outdoor dining table.
His parents occupied the seats beside him.
Jasmine moved between the guests with a glass of champagne in one hand, smiling as though she had earned the right to host the entire event.
She had recovered remarkably quickly from her supposed motion sickness.
Aaron noticed.
He said nothing.
Every few minutes, he checked his phone.
There were no messages from me.
That bothered him more than he wanted anyone to see.
He had expected an angry text.
Then an apology.
Then perhaps a call.
That had been our pattern for years.
When we argued, Aaron waited for me to repair the damage.
He had become so accustomed to it that my silence felt less like anger and more like a malfunction in the natural order.
His mother noticed him looking at the phone.
"She'll come around."
Aaron slipped the device into his pocket.
"I know."
His mother laughed softly.
"She always does."
Across the table, Jasmine smiled.
"Mrs. Prescott is probably just upset."
Aaron glanced at her.
"You don't need to talk about it."
Jasmine lowered her eyes.
"Of course."
The waiter arrived with another bottle of wine.
Then Aaron's chief operating officer came running across the patio.
His expression was wrong.
Aaron saw it immediately.
"Sir."
The man was breathing hard.
"Mr. Stanford is calling."
Aaron frowned.
"About the funding round?"
"I think so."
Aaron took the phone.
"Stanford."
The voice on the other end was cold.
"Aaron, the board has suspended the five-hundred-million-dollar investment."
Aaron straightened.
"What?"
"Effective immediately."
"That's impossible. The agreement is signed."
"Your company has become too exposed."
"Exposed to what?"
There was a pause.
Then Stanford said, "You crossed someone you should not have crossed."
The line went dead.
Aaron stared at the phone.
"What did he mean?"
The COO did not answer.
His own phone began ringing.
He looked at the screen.
Then his face drained of color.
"Sir."
"What?"
"We've received a notice from legal."
"From whom?"
"The Vance Group."
Aaron went completely still.
The COO swallowed.
"They're revoking the licenses for the thirteen power modules."
No one at the table spoke.
Aaron stood.
"Read it."
The man looked down at the screen.
"The licensing agreement is terminated due to a breach of partnership terms. Production rights are suspended immediately."
Aaron grabbed the phone.
"No."
He read the notice himself.
Then another document arrived.
Debt demand.
One point five billion dollars.
Seventy-two hours.
His mother pushed back her chair.
"This has to be Alyssa."
Aaron looked at her.
"Don't."
"She is doing this because of the airplane."
"Don't."
His voice was sharp enough to silence the table.
Jasmine approached cautiously.
"Mr. Prescott."
Aaron turned.
She placed a hand on his arm.
"We can call her."
He pulled away.
"Don't touch me."
Jasmine stepped back.
Her expression changed.
She was beginning to understand that whatever protection she thought she had gained that morning had disappeared.
Aaron's phone rang again.
This time it was his legal department.
Then finance.
Then operations.
The messages came faster than he could read them.
Production suspended.
Credit review initiated.
Banking facilities frozen pending assessment.
Supplier contracts under review.
The company he had spent years building was suddenly standing on the edge of a cliff.
And the person holding the rope was the wife he had dismissed over a seat.
Aaron grabbed his own phone.
He called me.
I was sitting in my office when it rang.
I watched his name appear.
I let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then I answered.
"What?"
"Alyssa."
His voice was raw.
"What have you done?"
I looked out the window.
"What did you think I would do?"
"This is about the plane?"
"No."
"Then why are you doing this?"
I almost laughed.
"You still don't understand."
"It was a misunderstanding."
"No."
"Jasmine was sick."
"That's not what this is about."
"Then tell me."
I leaned back.
"You told me to think about the bigger picture."
He went silent.
I continued.
"The bigger picture is that you built a company using money you borrowed from my family and technology developed by my family's research institute."
"That doesn't mean you can destroy everything."
"It means I can stop pretending it belongs to you."
His breathing became heavier.
"Alyssa, I will fire Jasmine."
I said nothing.
"I'll fire her today."
Still nothing.
"I'll apologize."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"You're bargaining with me."
"I'm trying to save my company."
"Exactly."
He lowered his voice.
"Please."
The word was unfamiliar.
Aaron had never sounded like that with me.
I opened my eyes.
"You've spent four years believing my support was unconditional."
"It was a marriage."
"No. It was a partnership you treated like ownership."
He did not answer.
"You called yourself self-made."
"I worked for everything."
"You worked hard," I said. "I never denied that. But you worked with a safety net you refused to acknowledge."
He sounded desperate.
"What do you want?"
"The money."
"All of it?"
"One point five billion."
"That's impossible."
"Then you have seventy-two hours."
"Alyssa."
"Use the time wisely."
He tried again.
"You wouldn't destroy the company just to punish me."
"This isn't punishment."
"What is it?"
"Accounting."
I ended the call.
Then I blocked his number.
Across the ocean, Aaron was left staring at a silent screen.
For the first time, the silence was not something he could command.
It belonged to me.
Click Here to continue read next: PART4: He Returned Through the Storm With Nothing Left to Bargain, but the Woman Waiting Inside Had Already Decided What His Future Would Cost
She Took My Seat Before Takeoff, and My Husband Made It Clear Whose Comfort Mattered More Than Four Years of Marriage
Part 3 of 8
