I stood perfectly still, letting his angry words hang in the heavy air between us. I did not scream. I did not cry. I did not list my massive financial contributions or remind him that his $800 barely covered the electricity bill during the freezing Chicago winters. Arguing with a parasite is a complete waste of energy.

You do not negotiate with a tick. You simply extract it. Instead of fighting back, I looked at his flushed, angry face and did the exact opposite of what he expected. I smiled. It was a slow, chilling smile that did not reach my eyes. ‘You are absolutely right, Brandon,’ I said softly, my voice dripping with an eerie calm.

‘We are getting married in 2 days. Family shares everything. We are a team. I should be more accommodating to your mother during her time of need.’ Brandon blinked completely, thrown off guard by my sudden compliance. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a triumphant, arrogant smirk.

He actually believed he had won. He believed his pathetic emotional manipulation had broken my resolve. ‘Exactly, babe.’ He breathed out a huge sigh of relief, stepping forward to pull me into a hug. I easily sidestepped his embrace, clutching my laptop tightly against my chest. ‘I will sleep on the sofa downstairs,’ I told him smoothly.

You go back upstairs and get some rest. Like you said, tomorrow is a big day. We have the rehearsal dinner and you need to be fresh. He beamed at me completely oblivious to the danger lurking behind my agreeable tone. Thank you, Allison. I promise this is just temporary. You are going to make a beautiful bride.

Good night, Brandon, I said. I watched him turn around and jog happily back up the stairs, eager to return to the master suite he had so graciously gifted to his mother. He thought he had secured his luxurious future. He thought he had successfully subdued the rich, independent woman into a compliant, silent wife.

The moment he disappeared from view, my smile vanished entirely. The icy resolve returned to my veins. I turned the brass handle of my office door, stepped inside the dark room, and locked the heavy oak door firmly behind me. I did not walk over to the sofa. I walked straight to my massive desk, opened my laptop, and watched the screen illuminate the dark room.

If Brandon wanted to call me a cold-blooded accountant, I was more than happy to play the part. It was time to audit my fiance. The heavy oak door of my office clicked shut, sealing me inside my command center. The room was soundproof, a feature I insisted on when I bought the estate, ensuring absolute silence for my complex investigations.

I did not bother turning on the overhead lights. The glow from my triple monitor setup illuminated the space in a cold blue hue. I sat down in my ergonomic chair, cracked my knuckles, and woke up the servers. Brandon thought I was a cold-blooded accountant. He was about to find out just how accurate that assessment was.