The yellow Uber sped down the tree-lined avenue bordering Central Park.
Hayden pulled a tissue from her bag and scrubbed roughly at the corner of her eye. The skin turned red and raw, but she didn't care. She refused to let another tear fall.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. His forehead wrinkled with concern.
"Miss? Do you need me to pull over? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just drive," Hayden said. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.
She pulled a pair of oversized black Tom Ford sunglasses from her bag and slid them onto her face, hiding her swollen eyes.
She unlocked her phone and opened the Chase banking app.
She navigated to the joint account she shared with Bernhard. It was the account they used for shared household expenses and shared living costs. She scrolled past the caterer deposits and the florist fees.
Her thumb stopped.
There it was. A transaction from last Thursday.
Van Cleef & Arpels - $50,000.
Her stomach tightened. She hadn't received any jewelry last week. Bernhard had told her he was tied up in meetings all day Thursday.
She took a screenshot of the transaction. She opened a highly specialized, military-grade encrypted application she kept hidden in a nested folder on her phone and forwarded the image to a secure server she maintained in Switzerland.
The car jerked to a stop outside her building on the Upper East Side.
Hayden took a deep breath. She pushed the sunglasses up onto the top of her head. She adjusted her posture, pulling her shoulders back until her spine was perfectly straight.
She swiped her keycard and pushed through the revolving doors.
The lobby concierge, a man named Thomas, beamed at her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Cunningham! How was the dress fitting?"
Hayden gave him a crisp, polite nod. "It was fine, Thomas. Thank you."
She didn't stop walking. She headed straight for the private elevator bank.
The doors slid shut, sealing her in the mirrored box. She stared at her reflection in the stainless steel. She looked pale, almost ghostly. She reached into her bag, pulled out a tube of Tom Ford lipstick, and swiped a layer of crimson across her lips. It was armor.
The elevator chimed, announcing her arrival at the penthouse.
She pushed open the double oak doors and stepped inside. The apartment was silent. She was alone.
She walked to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of ice water, and sat down on one of the barstools. Her heart was still pounding, but her face remained an unreadable mask.
Nearly an hour passed. She heard the faint ding of the second private elevator across the foyer.
The doors slid open. Bernhard stepped out.
He was wearing a different suit – a navy one. He reached up and loosened his silk tie, letting out a heavy, exaggerated sigh.
"God, what a day," he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "That board meeting was a nightmare. My head is pounding."
Hayden's stomach did a violent flip. The smell of his expensive cologne hit her, and beneath it, she could almost smell the vanilla from the Vera Wang boutique.
He walked toward her, a practiced, affectionate smile on his face. He leaned in, aiming his lips at her forehead.
The bile rose in her throat again.
Hayden jerked her head to the side.
Bernhard's lips brushed against her hair. He stopped. He pulled back, his eyebrows pulling together in a sharp frown. His dark eyes narrowed, searching her face with a flicker of annoyance.
"What's wrong with you?"
Hayden forced her hands to unclench. She swallowed hard, pushing the disgust down.
"The wind outside was brutal," she lied smoothly. "It gave me a massive migraine. I just need some water."
She turned her back to him and walked toward the massive marble island in the kitchen.
Bernhard stared at her back for two long seconds. Then, he let out a dismissive scoff.
"Anniversary jitters. You need to relax, Hayden."
He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossed it onto a barstool, and headed straight for the master bathroom. "I'm taking a shower."
Hayden gripped the edge of the marble counter. Her knuckles turned white. She waited until she heard the heavy glass door of the shower slide shut and the sound of rushing water fill the apartment.
Only then did her shoulders drop.
She reached for a glass, her hands still trembling slightly.
Suddenly, a harsh vibration rattled against the marble.
Hayden jumped.
Bernhard had left his phone sitting on the edge of the counter. The screen lit up, cutting through the dim lighting of the kitchen.
It was a text message. The sender had no name, just a string of numbers.
Hayden stepped closer. She stared at the glowing screen.
The preview banner read: 181 Seconds. Usual spot.
Her brain spun. The words felt familiar. She closed her eyes, digging through her memories.
Six months ago. Bernhard had taken her to a tiny, obscure coffee shop hidden in an alleyway just two blocks from his office. He had bragged about finding a place where none of his colleagues went.
The name of the coffee shop was 181 Seconds.
Hayden's eyes snapped open.
She pulled her own phone from her pocket. She didn't touch his phone. She just hovered her camera over his screen and snapped a photo of the unsaved number and the message.
The sound of the shower abruptly changed. The water pressure dropped. He was turning it off.
Hayden shoved her phone back into her pocket. She grabbed the water glass, filled it from the tap, and lifted it to her lips.
Bernhard walked out of the bathroom. He had a white towel wrapped low around his waist. He was aggressively drying his hair with a smaller towel.
He walked straight toward the kitchen island.
He reached for his phone. As he picked it up, the screen lit up again.
Hayden watched him over the rim of her glass.
Bernhard's face went rigid. The color drained from his cheeks for a fraction of a second. He quickly tapped the screen, his eyes darting sideways to look at Hayden.
Hayden didn't look back. She set her glass down and picked up a Vogue magazine that was sitting on the counter. She flipped it open, her face completely blank.
Bernhard let out a quiet breath. He quickly typed a reply, locked the phone, and placed it face down on the marble.
"I'm going to lie down," Hayden said. She closed the magazine and walked past him. "My head is killing me."
She walked into the master bedroom and headed straight for her massive walk-in closet.
She stepped inside and pulled the heavy door shut behind her. She reached out and twisted the lock. It clicked into place.
She leaned her back against the solid wood. The air in the closet smelled like cedar and expensive leather.
The mask fell off. Her eyes turned completely cold.
She pulled her phone out and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number for Manhattan's most ruthless real estate broker.
She hit dial.
The phone rang twice before a sharp female voice answered. "Hayden? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Hayden's voice was like crushed ice.
"List my pre-marital co-op on Fifth Avenue. The one Bernhard is currently living in. I want it on the market by tomorrow morning. Cash buyers only. And I want it done fast."
