The Vanity Fair photography crew packed up their lighting equipment in the living room of the Manhattan penthouse.
"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Landry. Perfect chemistry," the photographer smiled as he walked out the door.
Juliana collapsed onto the white leather sofa. She rubbed her temples.
She reached for her left hand and pulled off the ten-carat diamond ring she had worn just for the cameras. She tossed it onto the glass coffee table.
The front door clicked open.
Adelbert must have given her the private access code. The thought was another shard of ice in Juliana's heart.
Corrin walked in. She was carrying a few shopping bags. She didn't knock.
She walked past Juliana without looking at her. She headed straight for the wet bar where Adelbert was pouring a glass of scotch.
Suddenly, Corrin stopped.
She dropped her bags. She slapped her hand over her mouth and let out a loud gagging sound.
Adelbert dropped the crystal decanter. He rushed over and grabbed her waist.
"Corrin? What's wrong?"
Corrin leaned heavily against his chest. She looked pale and weak.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I've just been so nauseous lately. And so tired."
She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and watery.
"Adelbert... I missed my period this month."
The air in the living room vanished.
Juliana stood up from the sofa. Her legs felt like lead.
Adelbert froze. His eyes widened in shock. But then, his expression shifted. His arms tightened around Corrin's waist. It was a protective, possessive grip.
He didn't push her away. He didn't look at Juliana.
"Let's get you to a doctor," he said softly.
Juliana's heart ripped in half.
She walked toward them. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor.
"Explain this," Juliana said. Her voice was colder than ice.
Adelbert stepped in front of Corrin, blocking Juliana from getting closer.
"This is none of your business," he said flatly.
Corrin peeked out from behind his shoulder. She started crying.
"I'm so sorry, Juliana. I didn't mean to ruin your marriage. We didn't plan this."
Juliana looked at her husband. He was standing there, defending his pregnant mistress in their living room.
Three years of swallowing her pride. Three years of enduring his insults. It was all a massive, pathetic joke.
Juliana didn't scream. She didn't throw anything.
She let out a short, dry laugh.
She walked over to the side table. She picked up the thick stack of papers sitting there. The copy of their prenuptial agreement.
She walked back to Adelbert.
She grabbed the stack of papers with both hands and ripped them straight down the middle.
She threw the torn pieces directly at Adelbert's chest.
The papers exploded into the air, raining down around him like snow.
"I am done with this disgusting game," Juliana said.
She turned around and marched toward the master bedroom.
She walked into the closet and pulled down her hard-shell suitcase. She unzipped it and started throwing her clothes inside.
Adelbert stormed into the bedroom. He saw the suitcase. His face twisted in anger.
"What kind of manipulative trick is this?" he yelled. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin.
Juliana ripped her arm away. She looked at him like he was a rotting corpse.
"I hope you and your new family rot in hell."
Adelbert flinched. The absolute hatred in her eyes pierced his chest. A sudden, sharp panic flared in his gut.
But his pride took over. His jaw clenched.
"If you walk out that door, you don't get a single cent," he snarled.
Juliana zipped the suitcase shut.
She didn't look back. She grabbed the handle and walked out of the bedroom, out of the living room, and out of the penthouse.
The heavy front door slammed shut behind her.
Adelbert stood alone in the bedroom. He stared at the empty space in the closet.
He raised his fist and punched the wooden doorframe.
