Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 43: Chapter 43
You are reading Signed To Be His Wife, Chapter 43: Chapter 43. Read more chapters of Signed To Be His Wife.
The rain came down in unrelenting sheets, turning the city streets into silver rivers of reflection. In the penthouse, Dominic stood by the expansive window, watching the storm pound the skyline. His jaw was tense, his fingers clenching the glass of whiskey that remained untouched. Behind him, Amara stood in the soft glow of the fireplace, her arms crossed, the silence between them thick with the echoes of everything they hadn’t said since the press conference.
Amara’s phone buzzed. Again.
Dominic turned slowly. “Another message?”
She nodded and picked it up, brows knitting. It was an anonymous number again, this time with a photo attachment.
Her heart sank as she opened the image. It showed Dominic, three years ago, in a private room with a woman—beautiful, raven-haired, laughing in a way that looked too intimate. The timestamp matched a date Dominic had once claimed he was abroad for business.
Amara turned the screen toward him, eyes burning. “Is this real?”
Dominic froze. He stepped closer, took the phone, and stared at it. “Where did you get this?”
“Answer me first.”
He sighed, setting the glass down. “Yes. It’s real. Her name was Marissa Kane. It was before I met you, but she worked for LeClair. I ended it quickly when I found out.”
Amara stepped back. “But you lied about that trip.”
“Because I was ashamed,” he admitted. “I fell for her scheme for a few months. She got close to get information. It nearly cost me a deal. I buried it. I didn’t want you thinking I was the kind of man who—"
“Who lies to his wife?”
Dominic winced. “I made a mistake.”
“No,” she said. “You made a choice. And now your past is being used against us.”
Before Dominic could respond, the intercom buzzed. It was Clara, sounding urgent.
“You need to see the news. Turn it on. Now.”
Dominic grabbed the remote and turned to the news channel. A breaking headline flashed:
"LeClair Industries Files Criminal Complaint: Alleges Dominic Hart Paid Off Government Official to Secure Merger."
The screen shifted to a pre-recorded video of Jeremy LeClair standing in front of a row of journalists, smug and smooth.
“It is with a heavy heart that I bring this forward,” LeClair said. “But the people deserve truth. My late business partner confided in me about a payoff involving Mr. Hart. I believe justice must be served.”
Dominic’s fists clenched. “That son of a —”
Amara cut him off. “This isn’t just an attack. This is a trap.”
Dominic turned to her, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
She crossed the room and retrieved her laptop. “I’ve been digging through that flash drive. Most of it is financial records. But I found a few documents hidden under false file extensions. One is a copy of your contract.”
His brow furrowed. “Our marriage contract?”
She nodded. “But edited. It now includes a clause stating you promised me a payout for favorable legal testimony—and that I agreed to falsely back your version of events regarding the merger.”
Dominic paled. “That clause never existed.”
“I know. But if someone leaks this version—with that clause—you’ll not only be ruined in business, but indicted.”
He slumped into the leather chair. “He’s rewriting our entire narrative.”
Amara stepped closer. “Then we rewrite it back. But this time, we don’t do it defensively. We go on the attack.”
The next morning, they met with Detective Carla at a secure office downtown. Carla had aged ten years in ten days, the strain evident on her face.
“This thing is bigger than we thought,” she said, tossing a folder on the desk. “LeClair has allies in the Department of Commerce, two ex-judges, and a journalist on payroll. You’re not just fighting a rival, Dominic. You’re fighting an empire.”
Dominic glanced at Amara, then back at Carla. “Then we’ll burn it down.”
Carla smirked. “That’s the spirit. But you need proof.”
Amara laid out the forged contract. “We need forensic analysts to compare it to the original copy.”
Carla nodded. “I’ll arrange it. But it might take days.”
Dominic leaned forward. “Then we hit back now. We have a press conference in twenty-four hours. And I want Jeremy exposed.”
Back at the penthouse, Amara spent hours preparing a statement. Dominic called in his personal tech specialist, Julian, to help secure the original files.
As Julian worked, he paused. “You need to see this.”
He opened a hidden folder inside LeClair’s email server—a hacked copy obtained weeks ago.
Inside were messages not just about Dominic, but about Amara.
One read:
"She’ll break eventually. Everyone has a price. Especially ones like her. Just wait till she finds out who really put her father in prison."
Amara froze. “What?”
Julian glanced at Dominic, then back at Amara. “There’s more.”
He clicked through another chain. Bank records. Legal memos. And finally, a confession statement from a corrupt prosecutor who had taken a bribe.
“Your father,” Dominic said quietly. “He was framed. LeClair’s father orchestrated it. To pressure your mother into selling her firm. She refused, and your father became the scapegoat.”
Amara sat down hard, eyes filling with tears. “All these years… I thought he was guilty. That he’d ruined us.”
Dominic knelt in front of her. “He was a good man. They took everything from you. But now, we take it back.”
She looked into his eyes. “Then let’s bring them down. For him. For us.”
The press conference was held in the same hall where Dominic had announced their marriage a year earlier. But this time, the mood was different. Somber. Electric.
Cameras rolled. Lights blazed.
Dominic stepped to the podium.
“A week ago, allegations were made against me. Today, I respond with truth.”
He held up the forged contract, then displayed the original.
“This is real. That is not.”
Amara joined him. “And this is personal. LeClair has targeted us with lies, bribes, and corruption. But we have proof. And we have voices.”
Julian displayed emails, bank statements, confession letters. Names were named. Faces exposed.
The crowd erupted.
Amara finished. “To every woman who’s been silenced, to every family torn apart by greed—we’re standing. We’re fighting. And we’re not backing down.”
That night, the tide shifted.
Federal investigators opened a probe into LeClair Industries.
Social media exploded with support for Amara.
The penthouse, once haunted by tension, now held the light of defiance and hope.
Dominic poured two glasses of wine and joined Amara on the balcony.
She clinked her glass against his.
“To broken contracts,” she said.
He smiled. “And unbreakable promises.”
Amara’s phone buzzed. Again.
Dominic turned slowly. “Another message?”
She nodded and picked it up, brows knitting. It was an anonymous number again, this time with a photo attachment.
Her heart sank as she opened the image. It showed Dominic, three years ago, in a private room with a woman—beautiful, raven-haired, laughing in a way that looked too intimate. The timestamp matched a date Dominic had once claimed he was abroad for business.
Amara turned the screen toward him, eyes burning. “Is this real?”
Dominic froze. He stepped closer, took the phone, and stared at it. “Where did you get this?”
“Answer me first.”
He sighed, setting the glass down. “Yes. It’s real. Her name was Marissa Kane. It was before I met you, but she worked for LeClair. I ended it quickly when I found out.”
Amara stepped back. “But you lied about that trip.”
“Because I was ashamed,” he admitted. “I fell for her scheme for a few months. She got close to get information. It nearly cost me a deal. I buried it. I didn’t want you thinking I was the kind of man who—"
“Who lies to his wife?”
Dominic winced. “I made a mistake.”
“No,” she said. “You made a choice. And now your past is being used against us.”
Before Dominic could respond, the intercom buzzed. It was Clara, sounding urgent.
“You need to see the news. Turn it on. Now.”
Dominic grabbed the remote and turned to the news channel. A breaking headline flashed:
"LeClair Industries Files Criminal Complaint: Alleges Dominic Hart Paid Off Government Official to Secure Merger."
The screen shifted to a pre-recorded video of Jeremy LeClair standing in front of a row of journalists, smug and smooth.
“It is with a heavy heart that I bring this forward,” LeClair said. “But the people deserve truth. My late business partner confided in me about a payoff involving Mr. Hart. I believe justice must be served.”
Dominic’s fists clenched. “That son of a —”
Amara cut him off. “This isn’t just an attack. This is a trap.”
Dominic turned to her, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
She crossed the room and retrieved her laptop. “I’ve been digging through that flash drive. Most of it is financial records. But I found a few documents hidden under false file extensions. One is a copy of your contract.”
His brow furrowed. “Our marriage contract?”
She nodded. “But edited. It now includes a clause stating you promised me a payout for favorable legal testimony—and that I agreed to falsely back your version of events regarding the merger.”
Dominic paled. “That clause never existed.”
“I know. But if someone leaks this version—with that clause—you’ll not only be ruined in business, but indicted.”
He slumped into the leather chair. “He’s rewriting our entire narrative.”
Amara stepped closer. “Then we rewrite it back. But this time, we don’t do it defensively. We go on the attack.”
The next morning, they met with Detective Carla at a secure office downtown. Carla had aged ten years in ten days, the strain evident on her face.
“This thing is bigger than we thought,” she said, tossing a folder on the desk. “LeClair has allies in the Department of Commerce, two ex-judges, and a journalist on payroll. You’re not just fighting a rival, Dominic. You’re fighting an empire.”
Dominic glanced at Amara, then back at Carla. “Then we’ll burn it down.”
Carla smirked. “That’s the spirit. But you need proof.”
Amara laid out the forged contract. “We need forensic analysts to compare it to the original copy.”
Carla nodded. “I’ll arrange it. But it might take days.”
Dominic leaned forward. “Then we hit back now. We have a press conference in twenty-four hours. And I want Jeremy exposed.”
Back at the penthouse, Amara spent hours preparing a statement. Dominic called in his personal tech specialist, Julian, to help secure the original files.
As Julian worked, he paused. “You need to see this.”
He opened a hidden folder inside LeClair’s email server—a hacked copy obtained weeks ago.
Inside were messages not just about Dominic, but about Amara.
One read:
"She’ll break eventually. Everyone has a price. Especially ones like her. Just wait till she finds out who really put her father in prison."
Amara froze. “What?”
Julian glanced at Dominic, then back at Amara. “There’s more.”
He clicked through another chain. Bank records. Legal memos. And finally, a confession statement from a corrupt prosecutor who had taken a bribe.
“Your father,” Dominic said quietly. “He was framed. LeClair’s father orchestrated it. To pressure your mother into selling her firm. She refused, and your father became the scapegoat.”
Amara sat down hard, eyes filling with tears. “All these years… I thought he was guilty. That he’d ruined us.”
Dominic knelt in front of her. “He was a good man. They took everything from you. But now, we take it back.”
She looked into his eyes. “Then let’s bring them down. For him. For us.”
The press conference was held in the same hall where Dominic had announced their marriage a year earlier. But this time, the mood was different. Somber. Electric.
Cameras rolled. Lights blazed.
Dominic stepped to the podium.
“A week ago, allegations were made against me. Today, I respond with truth.”
He held up the forged contract, then displayed the original.
“This is real. That is not.”
Amara joined him. “And this is personal. LeClair has targeted us with lies, bribes, and corruption. But we have proof. And we have voices.”
Julian displayed emails, bank statements, confession letters. Names were named. Faces exposed.
The crowd erupted.
Amara finished. “To every woman who’s been silenced, to every family torn apart by greed—we’re standing. We’re fighting. And we’re not backing down.”
That night, the tide shifted.
Federal investigators opened a probe into LeClair Industries.
Social media exploded with support for Amara.
The penthouse, once haunted by tension, now held the light of defiance and hope.
Dominic poured two glasses of wine and joined Amara on the balcony.
She clinked her glass against his.
“To broken contracts,” she said.
He smiled. “And unbreakable promises.”
End of Signed To Be His Wife Chapter 43. Continue reading Chapter 44 or return to Signed To Be His Wife book page.