The wind on Fifth Avenue felt like ice against her damp skin. Carleigh had wrapped a handkerchief around her hand, but the blood had already soaked through the silk. It throbbed with a dull, rhythmic pain.
She walked back to The Plaza, her head held high despite the dizziness. She needed to clean the wound, pack her bag, and figure out her next move.
When she reached the reception desk, the manager-the same polite man from last night-looked uncomfortable. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
"Mrs. Parker," he said quietly. "I'm afraid there's been a problem with the room."
"What problem?" Carleigh asked, cradling her injured hand.
"Mr. Parker called. He... reported the card as stolen. He's placed a security freeze on all associated sub-accounts, citing potential unauthorized activity."
Carleigh laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. Of course he did. He was cutting off her oxygen.
"Fine," she said. She reached into her purse and pulled out her personal debit card. It was an old account she used for small things. "I'll pay with this."
The manager took it. He swiped it. He waited.
"Declined," he said softly.
Carleigh stared at the machine. "That's impossible. There's money in there."
"The account is flagged. Apparently, the bank received a notice from Parker Corp's legal team regarding a potential claim on all marital assets."
He had frozen everything. Even her personal account was technically linked to the joint trust. He had moved faster than she thought possible.
"I see," Carleigh said. She took the card back.
"Mr. Parker left a message," the manager added. "He said... he said the driver is outside to take you home whenever you're ready to stop 'acting out'."
Carleigh turned around. Through the glass doors, she saw the black Maybach idling at the curb. Hopkins was standing by the door, looking miserable.
She had zero dollars. No room. A bleeding hand. And it was starting to rain.
She walked out the side exit.
She avoided the main street where Hopkins could see her. She walked two blocks east, the rain soaking through her blazer instantly. She shivered violently. She couldn't go to her father; he would just call Kenton and sell her back for a gambling stake.
She ducked into the vestibule of a Duane Reade pharmacy to get out of the rain. Her teeth were chattering.
She pulled out her phone. 12% battery.
She scrolled past her father's name. Past Kenton's. She stopped at Harley.
Harley Finch. Her college roommate. The only person who knew about "Vee." But they hadn't spoken in six months because Harley couldn't stand watching Carleigh play the submissive wife.
Carleigh pressed call.
"If this is you asking for a recipe for Kenton's favorite scones, I'm hanging up," Harley's voice answered, brisk and loud.
"Harley," Carleigh said. Her voice broke.
There was a pause. "Carleigh? Why do you sound like you're underwater?"
"I left him. I... I'm on 58th and Lex. I have no money. My hand is bleeding."
"Stay there," Harley said. The line went dead immediately.
Carleigh slid down the wall to the floor, clutching her phone. She watched the rain streak the glass. For the first time all day, she let a single tear fall.
