Corbin's words hit Fallon like a bucket of ice water thrown directly at her chest.
The sudden shock snapped her out of her paralysis. She stared up at him. The look in his eyes wasn't just anger anymore; it was a deep, visceral disgust. He was looking at her like she was something filthy he had scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
Her stomach plummeted, hitting the floor.
"Let me explain..." Fallon started, her voice barely a whisper, pushing against the heavy bass of the club.
"Explain?" Corbin let out a harsh, barking laugh that held zero amusement. "Explain why, hours after running down a woman with your car, you have the appetite to come here and roll around with a pack of male escorts? Or do you want to explain exactly which clause of our prenuptial agreement you are currently violating?"
Jax lunged forward, his face red with fury. He pointed a shaking finger directly at Corbin's chest. "You're a bastard, Mcgowan! Do you have any idea what Fallon went through today? I dragged her out here! She didn't want to come!"
Corbin slowly shifted his gaze from Fallon to Jax. His eyes then slid lazily over the five escorts sitting frozen on the sofas.
"This is how you help her relax?" Corbin's voice was smooth, dripping with lethal condescension. "Vance, does everyone in the Terrell circle share this kind of... unique taste?"
The insult was a double-edged sword, slashing through Jax and burying itself deep into Fallon's pride.
Fallon's hands stopped shaking. The cold water in her veins turned into solid ice. She stood up. She pushed past Cade, ignoring the blanket that fell to the floor, and walked straight up to Corbin.
She tilted her head up, locking her eyes onto his. Her posture was rigid, her spine straight.
"Are you done?" Fallon asked. Her voice was completely hollowed out, devoid of any pleading or warmth. "If you are done speaking, get out of my booth."
Corbin's eyes widened a fraction of an inch. Her sudden, icy composure caught him off guard.
"Your booth?" Corbin looked around the decadent, dimly lit room, his lip curling in ultimate mockery. "Perfect. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Fallon. You will receive a call from my lawyers first thing tomorrow morning."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel and walked out, the heavy door swinging shut behind him, cutting off the neon light.
The music in the booth continued to pound, but the atmosphere was completely dead.
Jax turned to her, his eyes full of panic and guilt. "Fallon, I... I am so sorry. I didn't know he-"
"I'm tired," Fallon interrupted. She didn't look at him. She reached down, picked up her coat, and walked out of the room without looking back.
The next morning, Fallon was jolted awake by a frantic, continuous buzzing.
It wasn't her alarm. It was the doorbell.
She threw off the covers and walked into the living room. Patty O'Malley was standing by the front door, her hands wringing her apron. "Madam, there are dozens of reporters down in the lobby. Security is trying to hold them back."
Fallon frowned. She grabbed the remote and turned on the massive flat-screen TV on the wall.
Every single financial and entertainment news channel was flashing the same breaking story.
The headline at the bottom of the screen was printed in bold, blood-red letters: MCGOWAN WIFE'S WILD NIGHT OUT: PARTYING WITH MALE ESCORTS HOURS AFTER BRUTAL CRASH.
The screen displayed a grainy, zoomed-in photograph. It was Fallon, Jax, and the five escorts walking through the back entrance of Apotheke. The angle was deliberate, making it look like Fallon was leaning intimately against one of the men. Someone had tipped off the paparazzi. It wasn't Corbin. He hadn't had the time or the petty inclination to call the tabloids. It was someone else-likely the same rat on Ashely's payroll who had orchestrated the perfect camera angles at the hospital.
The broadcast immediately cut to a video of Ashely Berger's manager. He was standing outside the hospital, looking devastated. "Ashely saw the news this morning," he told the cameras, his voice shaking. "She is having a severe panic attack. She cannot understand how someone could be so cruel and heartless."
Fallon's new phone-the backup one she kept in her desk-started ringing incessantly. The caller ID flashed rapidly: her PR team, her father, and Madeleine Mcgowan, her mother-in-law.
She didn't answer a single one.
She stood in the center of her living room, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The pieces clicked together in her mind with terrifying clarity.
This was Corbin's retaliation. He wasn't just going to divorce her. He was going to publicly execute her reputation before the papers were even signed. He was manufacturing the perfect public narrative to trigger the morality clause, ensuring she walked away with nothing.
Fallon sank onto the edge of the sofa. She watched the morning sunlight crawl across the floor. She hadn't slept for more than two hours.
She thought of Corbin's eyes in the club. The absolute disgust.
The misunderstanding was a bottomless pit. Words had lost all their power. Explaining herself to a man who had already convicted her in his mind was a waste of breath.
An hour passed. The sun rose higher.
Fallon stood up. She walked into her massive walk-in closet. She bypassed the soft sweaters and sweatpants. She pulled out a sharp, tailored white dress. She sat at her vanity and meticulously applied her makeup, finishing with a bold, blood-red lipstick.
She grabbed her car keys from the marble counter.
"Patty," Fallon called out, her voice crisp and commanding. "Have the garage prepare my car. I'm going to the hospital."
Patty's eyes widened in horror. "Madam, where are you going? The reporters-"
Fallon's red lips curved into a sharp, freezing smile. "I am going to visit the 'victim'. This play has gone on long enough. It's time she shared the stage."
