Daisy's hands shook violently against the leather steering wheel. The tires of the Porsche slipped slightly on the rain-slicked asphalt.
She pulled the car over next to a fire hydrant on Fifth Avenue. She threw it into park and collapsed forward, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as if she had just run a marathon.
The rain hammered against the roof. She looked up at the rearview mirror. Her mascara was smeared down her pale cheeks. Her hair was a tangled, wet mess. She looked like a ghost.
She reached into her soaked purse and pulled out her phone. She opened an app to book a room at the Plaza Hotel on the Upper East Side. She needed a hot shower and a locked door.
She selected the black card tied to Emmett's primary account and hit pay.
A red box flashed on the screen: Transaction Declined. Account Frozen.
Daisy frowned. She assumed it was a fraud alert due to the late hour. She selected her own platinum credit card and tried again.
Transaction Declined by Issuer.
A cold sense of dread pooled in her stomach. She opened her banking app and checked her personal trust fund account.
The screen loaded. Her available balance was zero. A bold red banner across the top read: All assets temporarily locked by judicial order pending investigation of corporate fund misappropriation.
Daisy let out a dry, breathless laugh.
She understood instantly. This was Emmett. This was his ruthless, boardroom tactic applied to their marriage. He had used his armada of corporate lawyers to fabricate a complex legal pretext, cutting off her air supply to force her to come crawling back to him.
She grabbed her Hermes bag from the passenger seat and dumped the contents onto the leather upholstery. Lipstick, keys, a compact mirror, and three crumpled twenty-dollar bills. Sixty dollars.
She looked at the dashboard. The Porsche had a built-in GPS tracker. Emmett could find the car in minutes.
She made a split-second decision. She tossed the heavy car keys onto the passenger seat.
Daisy pushed the door open and ran out into the freezing rain, leaving the hundred-thousand-dollar car idling by the curb.
She ran two blocks down, her heels slipping on the wet pavement, until she saw a battered yellow taxi. She waved her arms frantically.
The cab pulled over. She climbed into the back seat, shivering uncontrollably.
The driver looked at her through the rearview mirror. "Where to, lady?" he asked with a thick accent.
"Queens," Daisy said. She gave him the name of a cheap motel she remembered passing years ago.
The taxi drove away from the glittering lights of Manhattan. The towering skyscrapers faded, replaced by rundown storefronts and dark, narrow streets.
When they arrived, Daisy handed the driver her cash. It was just enough for the fare and one night's stay.
The woman at the front desk chewed gum loudly, eyeing Daisy's ruined designer dress with suspicion. She slid a rusty brass key across the scratched counter.
Daisy walked up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor. She unlocked the door at the end of the hall.
The room smelled like stale cigarette smoke and cheap pine cleaner.
She pushed the door shut, locked the deadbolt, and dragged the heavy wooden desk chair under the doorknob.
She kicked off her wet heels. She walked barefoot across the stained carpet and collapsed onto the stiff mattress.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. A push notification popped up.
It was a TMZ alert. Billionaire's Hospital Drama.
Daisy clicked it. A video played. It was clear footage of Emmett standing in front of Eryn, his broad back shielding her from the camera, yelling at the paparazzi to back off.
Daisy scrolled down. The comments were brutal.
Looks like the charity case wife is finally getting dumped.
Eryn is his true love anyway. Daisy was just a placeholder.
Daisy stared at the glowing screen. The dam inside her finally broke.
Tears spilled over her eyelashes and dropped onto the glass screen. She curled into a tight ball on the hard bed, biting down hard on the scratchy blanket so she wouldn't scream.
