Elena POV:
I didn't wait for Misty to process the words. I turned on my heel and marched out of the guest room.
My spine was completely rigid. It was an involuntary physical response, the exact posture I assumed when a multi-million dollar deal was falling apart on the boardroom table. I kept my head high, refusing to let the trembling in my knees show.
"Wait! You can't just take pictures of my baby!" Misty yelled, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she chased me into the hallway, still clutching the infant. "Nathan is going to be so mad at you!"
I ignored her babbling. I walked straight to the double doors of the master bedroom.
I reached for the handle and stopped. The sleek silver handle had been replaced. A brand-new, matte black fingerprint lock sat mocking me on my own bedroom door.
I pressed my thumb against the sensor.
A harsh beep sounded, and a red light flashed. *Access Denied.*
I took a sharp breath through my nose. I tapped the keypad to bring up the numbers. I punched in Nathan's birthday.
*Error.*
My jaw tightened. A sick, twisted thought crossed my mind. I punched in the birthdate of my golden retriever, Max, who had died of cancer three years ago.
The lock clicked green. The door unlocked.
Nathan hadn't even bothered to think of a new code. He just used the memory of my dead dog to lock me out of my own sanctuary.
I pushed the door open.
The sight of the master bedroom made my chest physically cave in. The space I had shared with my husband was desecrated.
My elegant vanity table was completely cleared of my expensive serums and perfumes. It was now littered with Misty's cheap, neon-colored drugstore lotions and tangled hair extensions.
I practically ran to the walk-in closet and shoved the sliding door open so hard it slammed against the track.
My section was empty. Rows of my custom-tailored suits, my silk blouses, my designer evening gowns—all gone. Hanging in their place were rows of floral maternity dresses and cheap cotton sweatpants.
Misty appeared in the bedroom doorway, panting. She saw me staring at the closet and shifted guiltily.
"Nathan told me to pack all that old stuff up," she said defensively. "He said you didn't need it anymore, so we donated it."
I whipped my head around. My glare was so lethal it physically made her step back into the doorframe.
I stormed out of the closet. I scanned the room, my eyes darting to the dark corner near the reading nook. Stacked against the wall were four large cardboard moving boxes, heavily sealed with thick black duct tape.
I dropped to my knees on the carpet. I didn't care about looking composed anymore. I dug my fingers under the edge of the thick tape and ripped it backward with brute force.
The tape tore with a loud screech.
I threw the flaps open. Shoved inside, crumpled and wrinkled, were my silk blouses. Buried beneath them were my glass corporate awards, and at the bottom, our framed wedding photos.
I started frantically digging through the box, pulling things out and tossing them onto the floor. My hand brushed against a shattered picture frame. A jagged piece of glass sliced deep into the back of my hand.
Bright red blood welled up instantly, dripping onto a white silk shirt.
I couldn't feel the pain. I just kept digging.
Finally, at the very bottom, tucked inside a waterproof document bag, my fingers brushed against a hard leather cover.
I yanked it out. It was the certified copy of our marriage certificate from Las Vegas.
I stared at the cover. Smeared across the gold lettering was a massive, sticky brown coffee stain. They had treated the legal proof of my marriage like a coaster.
I stood up. Blood dripped from my hand onto the carpet.
I walked over to Misty and threw the heavy leather booklet directly at her feet. It hit the floor with a loud smack.
"Look at it," I ordered, my voice deadly quiet.
Misty blinked, looking down. "What is that?"
"Look at the date. Look at the names," I hissed.
Misty hesitated, then awkwardly squatted down with the baby to flip open the cover. Her eyes scanned the official seal, the signatures, and the date.
The color drained from her face in a matter of seconds. Her skin turned a sickly, ashen gray. Her lips started to tremble uncontrollably.
Right at that moment, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a text message from Nathan.
*Baby, the weather app says it's getting cold in Berlin. Remember to wear more layers. I miss you so much. I can't wait to pick you up at the airport in three days. Love you.*
I stared at the screen. The sheer, unadulterated hypocrisy of the words broke something inside me.
A low, dark laugh clawed its way out of my throat. The sound echoed off the high ceilings of the bedroom. It was a broken, terrifying sound.
Misty looked up at me, terror in her eyes. She actually shivered.
I flipped the phone around, shoving the screen right in front of her pale face.
"Look at the timestamp," I whispered.
Misty's eyes darted to the time. Sent one minute ago.
I dropped my smile. My eyes were completely dead.
"Now, call your good man right now and tell him to get his ass back here."
