The Betrayed Heiress And Her Genius Comeback

Bridget sat on the floor. She stared at the blood pouring from her hand, the crimson stark against her pale skin. Her eyes were completely dead. Golda gasped. She took a step forward, pulling a lace handkerchief from her pocket. "Oh my god, Bridget, let me help-" Bridget raised her uninjured left hand and slapped Golda's hand away with a sharp, echoing smack. "Get away from me," Bridget said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register. Jayson pointed a finger at her face. "You are out of control. You're a violent lunatic." Bridget didn't look at him. She pushed herself off the floor, ignoring the burning agony in her right hand. She walked straight past them, out of the room, and down the stairs to the living room. She walked to the security console hidden behind a wood panel in the wall. "What are you doing?" Jayson demanded, following her down the stairs. "Stop touching that." Bridget ignored him. She typed a twelve-digit override code into the keypad using the clean fingers of her left hand. It was a master root access code installed by the private security firm she had secretly hired months ago when she first suspected him of cheating-a backdoor Jayson didn't even know existed. She pulled up the camera feed for the second-floor hallway from ten minutes ago. She hit a button, casting the video directly onto the hundred-inch media screen on the living room wall. The screen flickered to life. The video showed Golda holding Pippa's hand. They walked up to the locked door of the collection room. Golda reached into her pocket and pulled out a brass master key. She unlocked the door. She pointed directly at the glass case holding the emerald necklace and whispered something into Pippa's ear. Pippa dragged a heavy wooden chair over, climbed up, and popped the latch on the case. Golda stood in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, a smug, calculated smile plastered on her face. The living room fell dead silent. Golda's face turned the color of ash. She stumbled backward, hiding behind Jayson's broad shoulders. "The... the video doesn't have sound," Golda stammered, her voice cracking. "Pippa ran in there, I was trying to stop her." Bridget hit pause. The screen froze on Golda's malicious smile. Bridget turned to Jayson. She tilted her head. "Is this the fatherless victim you're protecting?" Jayson stared at the screen. His jaw worked furiously. He knew he had been played. He knew Bridget was right. But his ego refused to let him admit it. Jayson turned his glare onto Bridget. "You have hidden cameras inside the house? You're spying on us? That's a violation of privacy." Bridget blinked. "Even if she made a mistake," Jayson gritted his teeth, doubling down, "you didn't have to throw yourself on the floor and cut your own hand just to frame her for assault." Bridget let out a laugh. It started low in her chest and bubbled up into a loud, echoing sound of pure, unadulterated contempt. She laughed until her ribs ached. She looked at Jayson as if he were a rotting carcass on the side of the road. She grabbed a handful of paper towels from the bar and wrapped them tightly around her bleeding hand. She pointed her bloody finger directly at the front door. "Take your whore and her thief daughter, and get out of my house," Bridget commanded. Jayson's face flushed purple. "Half of this house is mine!" "Check the prenup, Jayson," Bridget sneered. "The estate is a Powell family asset. You have ten seconds before I call the police and have you trespassed." Jayson had no leverage. He grabbed Golda's arm, yanked Pippa by the hand, and stormed out the front door, slamming it so hard the windows rattled. Bridget leaned against the wall, her knees shaking. The marriage was dead. Now, it was time for the autopsy.