Later that night, Kirsten stood in the master bathroom, the door locked. She carefully popped one of the small, white pills from its foil packet. It sat in her palm, a tiny shield against a future she refused to repeat.
As she raised it to her lips, the doorknob rattled. Then, a sharp, impatient knock.
"Kirsten? What are you doing in there? Open the door." Damon's voice was muffled, but the suspicion in it was clear.
Her hand jerked in surprise. The tiny pill slipped from her fingers, bounced once on the white marble counter, and disappeared down the drain of the sink.
Gone.
Her heart plummeted. One missed day. A risk she couldn't afford.
She quickly turned on the faucet, splashing water on her face to cover her panic. She took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and opened it.
Damon stood there, his eyes scanning her face, then trying to peer past her into the bathroom. "What were you hiding?"
She blocked his way, her body a barricade. She gestured vaguely at her abdomen. "Cramps. I was just washing my face. Is that a problem?"
It was the one excuse a man like Damon would never challenge. He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, his jaw tight. Finally, he took a step back.
"Jasmin's birthday is next week," he said, his tone shifting from suspicion to command. "You'll plan a party for her. Here. At the estate."
Kirsten stared at him, incredulous. "Me? Why me?"
He turned and walked toward his study, expecting her to follow. "Because you are the lady of the house, Kirsten. It will show everyone that we, as a family, have welcomed her." He sat down behind his massive mahogany desk and lit a cigar, the smoke curling around his head like a shroud. "This is good for Cooper Holdings' image. Philanthropy is our key focus this year. It looks good."
He wanted her to plan a party for his mistress. As a PR stunt.
The audacity of it was stunning.
"I expect it to be perfect," he said, his voice the final word on the matter. "Don't disappoint me."
Kirsten's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll handle it."
He waved a dismissive hand, already turning his attention to the papers on his desk.
She walked out of the study, her back rigid. She leaned against the cool wall in the hallway, forcing herself to breathe. This was it. The final act. She would play the part of the dutiful wife one last time.
Back in the bedroom, she took out the small packet of pills Dr. Caldwell had prescribed. She swallowed the tiny pill for the day, the routine a small act of rebellion, a silent promise to herself. She ignored the mild wave of nausea that followed, focusing instead on the cold resolve hardening in her gut.
She picked up her phone and sent a text to Eleanor.
Can the process server deliver the papers the day after the party? I want to give him a birthday surprise of his own.
Eleanor's reply was swift. We can. But be careful, Kirsten. A public event could make his reaction more volatile.
Kirsten looked out the window at the dark, manicured lawns. A cold smile played on her lips.
That's the point, she typed back. I want him to lose control.
She opened her laptop and started a new file: Jasmin's Birthday Party.
She began to make a list. The most expensive caterers. The rarest flowers. A string quartet. A champagne tower.
The theme, she decided, would be sapphires. Deep, cold, and brilliant. She knew Damon would buy Jasmin jewelry. She would create the perfect stage for his grand gesture.
It would be a magnificent party. A funeral for her marriage, and everyone in New York society would be there to witness it.
