I stared at the transfer agreement, and the urge to laugh nearly split me open.
So in this lifetime, Dominic was playing the exact same hand.
In my previous life, he'd funneled company resources and clients to the Prescotts one deal at a time. When I'd fought him over it, when I'd threatened divorce, he'd done this same thing. The same earnest apology. The same grand gesture of changing the Calloway Group's legal representative to my name.
The same script. The same con.
The reality was that there were no "eighteen years of love." He'd already set up a new company on the side: Calloway-Prescott Corp.
Back then, I'd been moved to tears, foolishly convinced that somewhere deep down, Dominic still cared about me.
Two months later, I discovered the truth. The company he'd so generously "given" me had already been leveraged to the hilt with the bank, buried under mountains of unpaid debt to every major partner they'd ever worked with.
What awaited me wasn't a gift. It was bankruptcy. And it dragged the entire Henson family down with it.
I blinked back the tears that came from holding in the laugh too long, picked up the contract, read it once, read it again, then slammed it into Dominic's face.