"Listen here, Alexander. Your so-called wife just dropped half a mil at my boutique. You know how I operate—I don’t do credit. But since she’s your problem, I thought I’d give you the courtesy of a heads-up."

Nathan Prescott’s voice dripped with mock sympathy.

"Word on the street is you’ve taken a hit in the market. If you can’t cover it, I’ll just have to take it up with your father. My employees need their paychecks, after all."

Next came Cassandra Prescott—Nathan’s full-blooded sister.

"Alexander, your friend’s wife charged three hundred grand at my store yesterday. She said anything under the Blackwood name goes on your tab."

She sighed dramatically.

"I didn’t want to embarrass you, so I let it slide. Normally, I wouldn’t bother you, but… well, you know how tight things are for me right now. If I don’t get that money in three days, I’ll have to go to Dad."

Amy Sinclair had spent two hundred thousand at Alexander’s flagship store.

Half a million at Tristan Prescott’s boutique.

Then three hundred thousand at Cassandra’s.

Tristan was Nathan’s half-brother—and Alexander’s biggest rival. If Alexander didn’t pay, Tristan would make sure the entire Prescott family heard about it.

Cassandra, on the other hand, was his own sister—her business was already teetering on the edge. If he let his friend’s wife bleed her dry and didn’t step in, he’d be the villain of the century.

Amy had picked her targets carefully. She knew exactly where Alexander couldn’t refuse.

That woman was ruthless.

Alexander frowned. "You’re sure she only hit Prescott stores? Not Blackwood Enterprises?"

"Positive." Nathan’s voice was tight with barely contained fury. "I’ve had people following her. She’s still out there, flashing your name like a damn credit card!"

A few days ago, Alexander had tried to bar her from his stores—sent security to turn her away.

Amy called the police, accusing them of unlawful detainment.

Left with no choice, Alexander had to issue a company-wide order: no more tabs for anyone.

So Amy simply moved on—straight to Tristan’s boutiques.

Tristan never said no. As long as she wanted to shop, he let her.

When questioned, he’d just smirk and say, "What, I’m supposed to refuse Alexander Blackwood’s wife? After everything he’s done for me?"

Alexander had confronted him directly. Told him to cut her off.

Tristan just laughed. "Come on, man. You and Alexander go way back. He’s bailed you out more times than I can count. His wife wants to spend? I’m rolling out the red carpet."

"He drops millions on that girlfriend of his, Victoria Langley. His wife wants a few designer bags, and I’m supposed to say no? That’d be a slap in his face, wouldn’t it?"

There was nothing Alexander could say to that.

The message was clear.

As long as Amy wanted to shop, Tristan would let her.

And the bill?

That would land squarely in Alexander’s lap.

He could control his own businesses, but he couldn’t stop Tristan.

Watching Amy’s spending spiral, Alexander was at his breaking point.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He’d once vowed to make her suffer through the divorce—to ensure she walked away with nothing.

Now?

He was desperate for her to sign the papers.

At least then, she’d stop using the title of Mrs. Blackwood to bleed the entire city dry.