Jennifer POV

The next seventy-two hours were a blur of safe houses, stern-faced lawyers, and giving statements to serious-looking men from the Securities and Exchange Commission.

Croft’s people were efficient. They secured an emergency restraining order and began divorce proceedings.

Meanwhile, Alistair Croft executed his side of the bargain with the help of a military campaign.

The files were leaked anonymously to the press and the authorities. The story exploded.

“Stanley Morgan’s Empire Implodes: Billionaire Charged with Fraud, Insider Trading, and Tax Evasion.”

This was the headline of the billionaire's story.

Friends and family saw it on the news, everyone frozen to their bones at the sight of it. Calls from those who cared and those who didn’t started coming in. Both parents were in a state of dilemma. Business associates who benefited from this fraudulent organization were perplexed. Some of his staff were looking for an escape route in order not to be caught afresh.

Stanley was arrested the moment his private jet landed back on American soil. His assets were frozen, and his company’s stock dropped at a high speed. The media feasted on the carcass of his reputation.

I watched it all from a comfortable apartment overlooking a different city, with a cup of tea cooling in my hands. I have since escaped via the fastest route available to me. Neither my parents nor my friend Lucy knew about my whereabouts; I had comfortably ghosted everyone.

But how can I enjoy this newfound life I have secured for myself? Is this going to be better than my former life? What if this new client comes into my life for blackmail?

There was no triumph, only a vast, weary emptiness. I was free, but I was also a ghost.

The divorce was the fastest in history, expedited by Stanley’s impending prison sentence and the mountain of evidence against him.

I waived all claims to his remaining assets in exchange for a lump-sum settlement, brokered by Croft’s law firm.

It was a fraction of his former wealth, but it was more than enough for ten lifetime. It was housed in new, secure accounts in my name only.

The day Stanley was to be arraigned in court had been scheduled; family and friends from far and near had come to witness this scenario.

Stanley couldn't believe his new dawn. He had carefully arranged with his lawyer to extract information about who was responsible for this conspiracy. His wife was the last person he would ever think would set him up.

His lawyer was engrossed in deep, unbelievable thought when he made his findings. The news was too heavy for him to share with Stanley. This was more than just him, so he had to digest everything for Stanley's friend.

Stanley was shocked to the bone; he never believed that a once-quiet girl he had taken away from poverty could conspire with his enemy and bring him down. It is said to never underestimate the power of a grieving woman; that was the case with me.

A week after the divorce was finalized, a package arrived at my apartment. It was from Alistair Croft. Inside was a note and a set of keys.

"Jennifer, a deal is a deal. I’ve taken the liberty of one final piece of business. The property attached to these keys is yours, free and clear. It’s a small house by the sea. I’m told the northern light is exceptional. Consider it a belated wedding present from a world that owed you one."

Trembling, I drove to the address. It was a small, beautiful house on a windswept cliff overlooking the ocean. It was a beautiful gallery he had built with glorious northern light. Canvases, brushes, and paints of the highest quality were already waiting, arranged with thoughtful care.

I stood in the middle of the empty, sun-drenched room and wept. Not tears of pain or fear, but of a hope so long dormant I had forgotten what it felt like.

The steady rhythm of the sea and the smell of salt made my creativity beautiful again.

I painted. I painted the rage, the fear, the darkness. I painted the light on the water, the resilience of birds flying along with the wind, and the quiet peace of my own loneliness. I didn’t paint for galleries or for fame; I painted for myself. And in doing so, I found my voice again.

I have changed my name. I was Jennifer, the artist. I refused to be defined by the man who had tried to destroy me. I was defined by my survival.

The years that followed were healing. Therapy helped untangle the knots of trauma.

Stanley was sentenced to a few years of imprisonment. He wept bitterly with every passing day. What an irony of life! Who would believe that the powerful billionaire Stanley would lay low in the dust just like that?

He has lost everything that made up the billionaire Stanley Morgan. The years of hard work he had labored to achieve crumbled within the twinkle of an eye by the power of a mere woman. Do you think he is going to let everything go down the drain just like that?

One afternoon, seven years after her escape, I was arranging pieces for a new exhibition in my gallery. A man entered, the bell on the door tinkling softly.

He looked rough yet distinguished, with dirty brown hair. He stood quietly, studying a large canvas that depicted a stormy sea, with a single brave light shining from a window on a cliff.

I turned to look at the stranger. It was Stanley Morgan. He looked older, a little more lined around the eyes, but his gaze was as sharp as ever. Immediately, I saw him; fear of death ran through my spine. My eyes and mouth were open wide in surprise; my sins had caught up with me too early. I didn't expect to see Stanley in such a short time. What would Stanley do to me now? That question had frozen my bones solid.