He Destroyed His Own Empire's Creator

Colton Farmer POV: I stood in the closet, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. All the Hermes bags, the Chanel suits, the limited-edition heels—untouched. In my world, money measured worth. Leaving millions of dollars behind wasn't a sign of nobility; it was a total rejection of my control. It made my skin crawl with an unfamiliar panic. I spun around and marched to the vanity table. Sitting perfectly in the center of the glass, surrounded by untouched diamonds, was her wedding ring. I reached out and picked it up. The metal was ice cold. I ran my thumb over the inside of the band, feeling the engraved initials. *C & N.* A sudden, suffocating tightness gripped my chest. My lungs refused to expand. I violently threw the ring back onto the glass. It bounced and clattered, mocking me. I ripped my silk robe off the hook, shoved my arms through the sleeves, and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. I pushed open the door to my private study. My eyes instantly locked onto the center of my desk. Underneath my obsidian paperweight sat a thick manila envelope. I walked over, shoved the heavy stone aside, and tore the top of the envelope open. A massive stack of documents slid out, fanning across the dark wood. Every single page bore the official watermark of the Securities and Exchange Commission. My eyes scanned the first page. Bold red ink filled the margins. My pupils dilated so fast the room blurred. It was the Q3 derivatives report for Farmer Capital. The one with the fatal compliance loophole that could trigger a federal fraud investigation. Right next to the error, written in elegant, meticulous handwriting, was a flawless legal workaround and the exact amendment clauses needed to save the company. I knew that handwriting. It was Nora's. My brain short-circuited. A loud ringing started in my ears. I slammed my hand down on the desk phone and hit the speed dial for my Chief Assistant. He answered on the second ring. "Sir?" "Who did the compliance audits for the past three years?" I barked, my voice cracking and hoarse. "Who wrote the SEC amendments?" My assistant sounded utterly baffled. "I... I thought you did them, sir. Late at night. You never let the legal team touch the Q3 derivatives." "Why the hell would you think I did them?" I roared, spit flying from my lips. "Because, sir," he stammered, terrified. "Every single amendment was sent from the encrypted IP address in your penthouse study. Between 2:00 AM and 4:00 AM." I slammed the receiver down so hard the plastic cracked. I collapsed backward into my leather chair. A layer of cold sweat broke out across my forehead and back. My severe insomnia. For three years, I could only sleep if Nora was in the apartment. I remembered waking up at 3:00 AM, seeing the light under the study door. I thought she was reading romance novels. I thought she was just waiting up for me like a good, useless housewife. My hands shook violently as I flipped through the rest of the pages. Every single document targeted a fatal blind spot in my empire. She hadn't just been sitting in this room; she had been keeping me out of federal prison. My private cell phone vibrated on the desk. The screen flashed: *Mother*. I dragged a shaking hand down my face, took a deep breath, and answered. Ernestina’s shrill, victorious laugh blasted through the speaker. "Colton, darling! Richard just called me. He gave me the wonderful news about last night." I stared at the ten-billion-dollar compliance fix written by the wife I just threw away. Her voice felt like a drill boring into my skull. "Mother, you don't understand—" "Oh, I understand perfectly," Ernestina interrupted, gloating. "You finally grew a spine and dumped that useless, money-sucking parasite. Now, I need you at the Long Island estate tonight. I have a dinner arranged with the senator's daughter." I couldn't breathe. The sheer stupidity of her words made my vision go red. I hit the end call button. I grabbed the edges of the desk and violently swept my arms across the surface. The SEC documents, the pens, the lamp—everything crashed to the hardwood floor. I let out a raw, guttural roar that tore at my throat. I buried my face in my trembling hands, my fingers digging into my scalp. I had just personally executed the only architect who knew how to keep my walls from collapsing. "That parasite with no background finally rolled out of our house."