Chapter 2 - The Truth Behind the Polish
Robert Mercer was sixty-one years old, slightly overweight, graying at the temples, and far more interested in rebuilding old wooden fishing boats in his driveway than impressing anyone in polite society. He had spent twenty-seven demanding years working senior investigations for a major county public-safety agency before retiring to a quiet, unassuming house twenty minutes outside Franklin, Tennessee.
He never bragged about his past career. To the neighbors, he was just a handy retired guy who fixed small engines.
Derek treated him like an aging nobody. And for a long time, Hannah had mistakenly mirrored Derek’s arrogant contempt, letting her husband’s polished exterior blind her to the dangerous reality of who Derek actually was.
There were many things Hannah had mistaken for something else during their whirlwind romance.
Possessiveness had looked like deep, unending love. Isolation from her friends had looked like devotion. Financial control had looked like responsible adult planning. Jealousy had looked like passionate commitment. And fear—God, fear had somehow looked like marriage.
Three years earlier, Derek Calloway had seemed like the absolute safest, most sensible decision Hannah’s conservative mother had ever advised her to make.
He was successful, impeccably polished, and extremely well-connected in local real estate circles. He came from a respected, wealthy family that owned several sprawling commercial-property developments around downtown Nashville. He wore perfectly tailored Italian suits, remembered every birthday and anniversary without fail, opened doors, tipped valets generously, and could charm an entire dinner table of strangers without ever appearing to try.
When they first met, Hannah had been working as a junior interior designer for a boutique commercial firm. Derek had claimed he loved that she had ambitions of her own. At least, that was what he said during their courtship.
After they were married, however, his tune shifted drastically.
First, he casually explained how utterly exhausting her demanding job seemed for someone of her delicate constitution. Then, he complained that she worked far too late into the evenings. Then, he began questioning the male architects and contractors in her office, planting seeds of doubt about her workplace ethics. Finally, he sat her down and gently explained that starting a family required mutual sacrifice, and that her career was standing in the way of their future happiness.
When Hannah became pregnant after nearly two years of trying, Derek immediately suggested she resign from her job.
"It’s only temporary, sweetheart," he had promised, kissing her forehead with deceptive warmth. "You deserve to relax and enjoy every moment of this pregnancy without the stress of deadlines."
She desperately wanted to believe him because the alternative meant admitting she had married a warden. So she handed in her resignation.
The first month at home felt peaceful, quiet, and domestic. The second month felt noticeably smaller and more restrictive. By the fourth month, Derek was meticulously checking every single credit card purchase over fifty dollars, demanding itemized digital receipts for groceries and household supplies.
By her sixth month of pregnancy, Hannah realized with a jolt of cold dread that she no longer had a single credit card in her own name. Her personal savings account, accumulated from years of hard design work, had somehow been systematically drained under the guise of "joint tax optimization," leaving her entirely financially dependent on her husband.
Whenever she raised concerns about her sudden lack of autonomy, Derek simply smiled, kissed her forehead, and repeated his mantra. "You’re carrying our precious child. Stop stressing yourself out over money. Let me worry about the ugly stuff."
She had desperately convinced herself that love sometimes sounded controlling when a man was under intense financial pressure at work.
Then, Courtney Lane entered their lives like a wrecking ball.
Derek had introduced her at an upscale cocktail mixer as a high-priced consulting partner helping his commercial real estate firm negotiate a massive multi-million-dollar downtown redevelopment project. Courtney was thirty-four, elegant, fiercely confident, impeccably groomed, and possessed an icy demeanor that clearly signaled she took whatever she wanted.
The first time Hannah met her at a corporate dinner, Courtney casually ordered the exact vintage of wine Derek preferred before he even opened the menu. The second time they crossed paths, Courtney openly mentioned a distinct surgical scar on Derek's left shoulder from a college boating accident—a private detail Hannah had never once mentioned to anyone outside the family.
By the third mandatory business dinner, Hannah stopped believing in convenient coincidences.
That very evening, Derek had insisted that a heavily pregnant Hannah dress up and accompany him to a private client dinner at a notoriously exclusive hotel downtown, treating her less like a wife and more like an ornament meant to project a wholesome family image to prospective investors.
"You need to be exceptionally pleasant tonight," Derek had warned her while adjusting his gold cuff links in front of their bedroom mirror.
Hannah looked at his reflection through the glass. "I am always pleasant, Derek."
"Courtney will be sitting at our table," he added coldly.
May you like
Hannah turned around slowly, her heart rate spiking. "So what if she is?"
"So act like a gracious host," Derek snapped, his eyes narrowing. "Don't embarrass me, Hannah. You've been acting entirely too dramatic lately, and I won't tolerate it in front of my business partners."
