Adina slumped against the cool glass of the car window, watching the dark shapes of the trees blur past as the Rolls-Royce sped along the Long Island Expressway. The hum of the engine was the only sound in the cabin, but it did nothing to quiet the noise in her head.
Her phone buzzed in her lap. She looked down, the screen illuminating her pale face.
Arely Cross: How was the dinner from hell?
A tiny fraction of the tension in Adina's shoulders eased. Arely was the only person in this world who understood. The only one who didn't judge her for being trapped in a loveless marriage.
Adina held down the microphone icon. "It was awful. Cierra is back. She was making comments about Dorman. And he didn't even show up. He claimed he had a board meeting."
She hit send and stared out the window. The city skyline was still miles away.
A moment later, Arely's reply came through, her voice dripping with outrage through the speaker. "That bitch! She flies back into town and immediately starts marking her territory? And Dorman just lets her? He's the worst, Addie. I swear."
Arely's anger on her behalf made Adina feel a little less alone. At least someone was in her corner.
Then, a text popped up.
Arely Cross: Addie, there's something I need to tell you. I've been sitting on it all afternoon, but I can't keep it from you anymore. I'm so sorry.
Adina's heart skipped a beat. The casual comfort evaporated, replaced by a cold dread. She typed back with trembling fingers: What is it? Just tell me.
Arely Cross: I hired a PI to follow Dorman. Just to keep an eye on things, you know? He lost him for a bit this afternoon, but an hour ago, he sent me a photo. I didn't want to believe it...
Adina's lungs refused to expand. The car suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Adina's breath caught. A PI? The idea was insane, a line she never would have thought to cross. But the seed of suspicion Dorman had planted this afternoon had already taken root, choking out reason. 'Arely, are you serious?' she typed, her hands shaking. Before Arely could reply, a wave of cold certainty washed over her. She erased the message. She needed to know. She stared at the three blinking dots on the screen, waiting for the axe to fall.
Arely Cross: I'm so sorry, Addie.
Send it to me, Adina typed. Now.
The screen went dark for a second, then the message notification appeared. A single image file.
Adina tapped it.
The photo loaded in high definition. The background was instantly recognizable to anyone who had ever walked the Upper East Side-the hushed, opulent hallway of The Carlyle hotel. The cream walls, the lacquered doors, the distinct art deco lighting.
And standing in that hallway were two people.
Dorman Cannon stood with his back mostly to the camera, his tall frame unmistakable in a charcoal suit. Facing him, standing in the doorway of a suite with the door half-open, was Cierra Ayers.
Adina's vision tunneled. She zoomed in on Cierra's hand. Her sister was holding a white plastic keycard sleeve, her fingers extending it toward Dorman. An invitation.
The timestamp at the bottom of the image burned itself into Adina's brain: 4:15 PM.
Four-fifteen. The exact time Dorman had claimed to be on a "video conference" with the London board.
The phone slipped in Adina's sweaty grip. She felt the blood drain from her face, a roaring sound filling her ears. It wasn't suspicion anymore. It wasn't a vague feeling of dread. It was proof.
Arely Cross: He went straight to her, Addie. As soon as she landed. I'm so sorry. I wish I had never seen this.
The words blurred on the screen. Adina's throat closed up, a hard, painful lump that made it impossible to swallow. She didn't cry. The pain was too sharp for tears. It was a physical sensation, like a fist squeezing her heart until the muscle threatened to tear.
She thought of his voice on the phone earlier. Don't be unreasonable.
He hadn't been busy. He hadn't been protecting his precious company. He had been with her. He had lied to her face, and then he had gone straight to the hotel room of the woman he actually wanted.
A wave of nausea rolled through Adina. She pressed a hand over her mouth, forcing the bile back down. For two years, she had endured the coldness, the loneliness, the utter lack of affection, all because she thought at least there was respect. At least there was loyalty.
But there was nothing. She was just a placeholder. A legal formality to keep the shareholders happy while he carried on with her sister.
The initial shock faded, replaced by something colder, something harder. The grief was still there, but it was being swallowed by a white-hot, blinding rage.
She wasn't going to be a victim. She wasn't going to sit in this car and cry over a man who treated her like garbage.
She saved the photo to a hidden album. Evidence.
Then she opened her messages and typed back to Arely with steady hands.
Find me the best divorce lawyer in New York. Tonight.
