The black Cadillac Escalade idles outside the VIP arrivals terminal at JFK. The engine emits a low, steady hum.
Garrett stands on the curb in a bespoke suit, holding a massive bouquet of champagne roses. His eyes dart toward the glass doors with an intense, almost feverish anticipation.
Elliana stands beside him in a simple beige trench coat. She watches her husband's unnatural obsession with his sister with dead, cold eyes.
The glass doors slide open. Cristina struts out, wearing oversized Chanel sunglasses and towering red-soled Louboutins.
Behind her, a small army of airport staff pushes brass carts loaded with Louis Vuitton trunks.
Cristina's eight-year-old son, Blair, trails beside her, aggressively mashing the buttons on a limited-edition gaming console.
Elliana scans the entourage. Colin is not with them.
Garrett steps forward. Cristina rips off her sunglasses, lets out a high-pitched squeal, and throws herself into Garrett's arms.
The embrace is suffocatingly tight. Garrett's hands slide down and linger on the small of Cristina's back for far too long.
A wave of revulsion hits Elliana's stomach.
She forces the bile down, steps forward, and pastes a soft, welcoming smile on her face. "Welcome back to New York, Cristina."
Cristina doesn't even blink in her direction. She looks right through Elliana, complaining to Garrett about the terrible pastries in Paris.
The blatant disrespect hangs in the air, thick and suffocating.
Blair runs up to Elliana. He lifts his heavy sneaker and stomps down hard on her brand-new Prada flats.
A sharp pain shoots through her toes. A black scuff mark ruins the pristine white leather.
Elliana gasps, stumbling backward.
Blair points at her and sticks his tongue out. "Stupid woman!"
Elliana snaps her head toward Garrett, waiting for him to discipline his nephew.
Garrett reaches down and ruffles Blair's hair. "He's just playing, Ellie. Don't be so sensitive."
Cristina finally turns her head. She looks Elliana up and down. "You look like a hot dog vendor from Times Square. Did you buy that coat at a thrift store?"
Elliana's fingernails dig into her palms. The pain grounds her, keeping the explosive anger locked inside her chest.
She lowers her head, letting her shoulders slump. She plays the role of the pathetic, broken wife perfectly.
Cristina and Garrett exchange a smug, victorious look over her bowed head.
The driver opens the doors of the Escalade. As the wife, Elliana should take the front passenger seat.
Cristina shoves past her and slides into the front seat without a word.
Garrett climbs into the second-row captain's chair, pulling Blair onto his lap.
Elliana is left standing on the curb. She silently climbs into the cramped, windowless third row.
The heavy doors slam shut, trapping her in a confined space reeking of Cristina's overpowering floral perfume.
Garrett and Cristina immediately launch into a loud conversation about a dinner party on the Upper East Side.
Sitting in the dark shadows of the back row, Elliana stares at the rearview mirror. She watches Garrett's eyes trace his sister's profile. She reaches into her pocket and hits record on her phone.
