Kyle let out a soft laugh, a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the industrial space. He looked at Kallie, his head tilted. "Oh, honey," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Did they let you out of that dingy warehouse in Bushwick tonight? And darling, please. You're talking about 'art' in this glorified garage? Let's not make a mockery of the term. You should stick to what you know. Which, apparently, is breaking other people's wedding photos and crying on demand."
A warmth spread through me. Kyle truly was magnificent. He always knew exactly how to cut through the bullshit, to expose the raw nerve. He had been my sounding board, my confidante, my protector through countless childhood scrapes and teenage heartbreaks. I had truly missed him.
Kallie's face flushed a deep, angry red. She looked like she might explode.
Corbin, however, looked... different. His anger, so fierce a moment ago, seemed to deflate. He stared at Kyle, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Kyle... Albert?" he murmured, a hint of surprise in his voice.
Kyle gave a small, theatrical bow. "The one and only."
Corbin's shoulders slumped. "I... I apologize for my behavior," he said, his voice stiff. "I didn't realize who you were." He looked at me, then back at Kyle. "Perhaps... perhaps we could all have dinner? A civilized discussion?"
Kyle just smiled. "Oh, I don't think so, Corbin. Addy and I have plans. And I'm sure you and Kallie have... other arrangements." He winked, a mischievous glint in his eye. Then, he took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, and led me away from the stunned couple.
We ended up in a cozy Italian restaurant downtown. Kyle, true to form, charmed the waiter, ordered a bottle of the finest Barolo, and regaled me with hilarious anecdotes from his latest gallery exhibition. He made me forget the lilies, the insults, the crushing realization. He made me laugh. A real, hearty laugh that made my stomach ache in the best possible way. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt light. Free.
I excused myself to the ladies' room. As I walked down the dimly lit hallway, I saw him waiting. Corbin. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, a dark, brooding presence. He looked like he' d been waiting for me for a long time. The anger was gone, replaced by a cold, desperate intensity.
"Adeline," he said, his voice low, urgent. "I need to talk to you. Just five minutes."
I stopped, but didn't turn to face him fully. "What is there to talk about, Corbin?"
"Kallie," he began, his voice strained. "It's not what you think. She's... she's incredibly talented. A raw, authentic talent. Like I was, when you found me." He paused, as if expecting me to react. I didn't.
"I can't just abandon her, Adeline," he continued, his voice pleading. "She reminds me so much of myself, before... before everything. If I don't help her, no one will. She has no connections, no money. She'll be lost. It's my dream, Adeline. To nurture that kind of raw talent, to give artists a voice who otherwise wouldn't have one."
He took a step closer. "I know you think I'm being foolish, that I'm overstepping. But it's important to me. It's a part of me that I thought was gone. I need to do this. For her. For myself. For the art." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me.
"I just... I need you to understand," he added, his voice softer. "Just support me in this. Let her get on her feet, let her establish herself. Once she's independent, once her career takes off, things will go back to normal. We can go back to how we were."
I finally turned to face him, my gaze unwavering. "Corbin. Have you slept with her?"
He flinched, his eyes darting away. He looked cornered. "No! Of course not! What kind of man do you think I am?" His voice rose in indignation. "How could you even ask that? Are you trying to destroy me?"
"Then why are we getting a divorce?" I asked, my voice calm. "If there's nothing, if you haven't betrayed me, then why is this happening?"
I remembered his grand declarations of love, the whispered promises in the dark. You're the only woman for me, Adeline. My rock. My everything. Empty words, echoing in the cavern of my broken trust. His delayed protestations of affection now seemed hollow, desperate.
Just then, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen. Kallie's name flashed across the display.
He answered it immediately, his face creased with concern. "Kallie? What's wrong? Are you okay?" He listened for a moment, his eyes wide. "What? You fell? Are you hurt?" His voice was filled with frantic worry. "Stay right there. I'm coming. I'll be there in five minutes."
He snapped the phone shut, his eyes meeting mine, urgency etched on his face. "Kallie's hurt, Adeline. She fell at her temporary studio. I have to go."
"Of course," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "Go. You always do, don't you?"
He grabbed my shoulders, his grip tight. "I'll be back, Adeline. I promise. We'll talk. We'll fix this. We have to."
I just smiled, a thin, mirthless curve of my lips. "Oh, Corbin. Are you sure her injuries aren't just for show? She is an artist, after all. Quite the performer."
I pulled away from his grasp, turned on my heel, and walked back towards the restaurant.
Kyle and I finished our meal, a pleasant, uninterrupted evening. He insisted on driving me home.
"To the brownstone?" he asked, pulling up to the curb.
"No," I said, a sudden thought striking me. "Take me to Corbin's place. I need to pick up a few things." Specifically, the jewelry I had left behind in my haste. The truly valuable pieces.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't question me. He drove me to the sleek, modern penthouse Corbin had bought years ago, before we were married, before the brownstone. The one he' d kept as his "studio apartment" even after we moved in together. The one he' d promised was only for his work.
I entered the code into the keypad. The heavy door swung open. The lights were on. All of them. The entire penthouse was bathed in a brilliant, almost blinding, glow.
But the place was eerily silent. No sign of Corbin. No sign of Kallie.
Then, from the guest bedroom at the end of the hall, I heard it. A low hum of voices. Not worried. Not urgent. Conversational.
I walked down the hall, my steps slow and deliberate. A small, battered suitcase sat outside the guest room door, overflowing with familiar, paint-splattered overalls. On the floor, next to the open suitcase, a lacy black bra lay tangled with a pair of worn-out jeans.
I pushed open the guest room door.
Corbin was there. And so was Kallie. They were lying on the bed, half-dressed, their bodies intertwined. His hand was tangled in her hair, her leg draped over his. They looked up, their eyes wide with shock, as I stood in the doorway.
