From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 114

**Chapter 11**

The financial mismanagement within Jake’s company unraveled like a fragile web, torn apart by Riley’s ruthless scheming. It was as if she had taken a knife to the very fabric of his life, intertwining company accounts with Jake’s personal finances, creating a noose that tightened around his neck, a sinister trap that he could not escape.

In the blink of an eye, the board of directors turned against him, their faces filled with betrayal as headlines blared accusations of embezzlement. The air was thick with tension, and the world outside felt like a storm brewing, ready to unleash its fury.

“Was it you?” Jake stormed into Riley’s office, his heart racing, eyes bloodshot and wild like a cornered animal. The fury surged through him, igniting every nerve as he confronted her.

Riley sat there, unfazed, painting her nails a deep crimson that mirrored the blood of his career. She looked up at him, a smirk playing on her lips, “Didn’t you already suspect me? Why the dramatic entrance now?” Her nonchalance only fueled Jake’s anger.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a collection of photographs onto the desk, images that captured Jake’s blurry silhouette entering nightclubs, a damning portrayal of his supposed debauchery. “Think your heartbroken act would survive these going public?” she taunted, her voice dripping with malice.

Jake’s fists clenched, a sneer forming on his lips as a thought struck him like lightning. “You think I don’t have backup evidence of your father’s smuggling operation?” The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, causing a palpable shift in the atmosphere.

Time seemed to freeze, and Riley’s expression morphed from amusement to shock. The bottle of nail polish slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor, a metaphor for her crumbling facade.

A week passed, and the fallout was swift. Riley’s father was arrested, his empire dismantled as their family assets were frozen in a heartbeat. Meanwhile, Jake’s company succumbed to bankruptcy, the once-majestic building now sealed like a crypt, echoing the death of his dreams.

With a suitcase in tow, Riley maneuvered through airport security, her makeup a reflection of her inner turmoil, wilting like roses left too long in the sun. Jake watched her, his gaze fixating on the scar on her wrist—a mark she had once attributed to “domestic violence.” A bitter laugh escaped him, cutting through the tension. “Even hell wouldn’t want trash like you.”

Riley’s eyes widened, pupils contracting as she vanished into the throng of travelers, leaving Jake feeling hollow and vindicated.

Three days later, the news broke across Southeast Asia—an explosion on a yacht. The recovered passport read “Riley Sterling,” a chilling confirmation of her fate.

The rainy season in Miami arrived unexpectedly, the skies opening up as I rushed into the studio, clutching design sketches that fluttered like leaves in the wind. As I entered, I found River standing at the door, holding an umbrella, his smile brightening the dreary atmosphere. “Ms. Walsh’s punctuality needs work,” he remarked, shaking off the droplets that clung to him, his glasses fogged from the humidity.

Suddenly, a raspy voice sliced through the sound of rain. “Chloe…”

Jake stood there, drenched and disheveled, his expensive suit clinging to him like a second skin, a faded velvet box clutched tightly in his hand. “I came to keep my promise,” he said, his voice trembling as he opened the box, revealing a diamond ring that looked dull and lifeless in the gray light filtering through the clouds.

“You said…” I began, but he cut me off.

“Your memory’s terrible, Jake,” I replied softly, a hint of laughter escaping my lips as my fingers traced the fractures of my brooch, a reminder of the past.

“That ring’s promise died the moment you ran back to Riley for the twenty-seventh time,” I added, my tone steady, but the weight of my words hung heavily in the air.

“You think some cheap ring erases everything?” he shot back, desperation creeping into his voice.

Another swift backhand followed. “That’s for trampling six years of my love.”

As I raised my hand once more, River gently caught my trembling wrist, his grip firm yet gentle. “Don’t dirty your hands,” he urged softly.

“Throw him out,” I commanded, my voice unwavering.

Two security guards stepped forward, dragging Jake away, his protests fading into the background.

River’s arm steadied my shoulders, fingers warm and reassuring. “Jake,” I whispered, glancing back at the rain-soaked figure one last time.

“You’re completely rotten now,” I added, the truth of it settling like a stone in my gut.

Three months later, under the spotlight, my final ‘Caged Birds’ collection stunned audiences. Shattered wings transformed into golden cloaks as thousands of white doves soared behind me during the grand finale, a symbol of liberation and triumph.

In a dimly lit apartment, Jake sat slumped in front of a moldy TV screen, surrounded by empty liquor bottles, his eyes glued to the broadcast. When the news showed River placing an engagement ring on my finger, rage surged through him. He smashed a bottle against the wall, shards of glass embedding into his palm, blood mingling with the cheap liquor.

“Congratulations…” he spat bitterly, raising the broken bottle to the empty air, blood dripping onto Riley’s death certificate. “We all got what we deserved.”