The night air hit my wet clothes like a slap as the security guards practically threw me out the hotel's side entrance. My legs trembled beneath me, the dampness between them a constant reminder of my humiliation. I couldn't stop shaking—from cold, from shock, from the crushing weight of Kylan's betrayal.
I stumbled toward the ornate fountain that dominated the hotel's courtyard, my mind replaying those devastating words over and over: "That's just the nanny." Eight years of marriage reduced to nothing. Eight years of sacrificing my dreams, my career as a pilot, my very identity—all for a man who wouldn't even acknowledge me as his wife.
The courtyard was mercifully empty as I gripped the stone edge of the fountain, trying to steady myself. My reflection wavered in the rippling water—mascara streaked down my cheeks, hair falling from its careful styling. I barely recognized myself. Who was this broken woman staring back at me?
"Brooklyn? Are you okay?"
I flinched at the voice, turning to find Reya Gordon approaching, her pilot's uniform pristine under the courtyard lights. Her expression was a perfect mask of concern, but her eyes—cold, calculating—told a different story.
"Please," I whispered, "just leave me alone."
"I had no idea Kylan was married," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "This must be so difficult for you."
She stepped closer, and I instinctively backed away, my heels catching on the uneven pavement.
"He never wears a ring," she continued, her eyes tracking my movements like a predator. "He told everyone he was single. I feel terrible that you had to find out this way."
"Stop it," I said, my voice stronger than I expected. "You knew. You've been to our house. You've seen our—"
The rest of my words disappeared into a startled gasp as Reya's hands connected with my chest, shoving me backward with surprising force. I windmilled my arms desperately, but gravity had already claimed me.
The splash was deafening in the quiet courtyard. Cold water enveloped me as I fell backward into the fountain, the shock of it stealing my breath. Before I could even process what had happened, Reya's scream pierced the night.
"Help! She pushed me! She tried to push me into the fountain!"
I surfaced, sputtering and gasping, to find Reya standing safely on the pavement, her uniform dry, her face a portrait of victimized innocence. Worse, a small crowd had gathered—hotel guests and a few stragglers from the party, all staring at me with judgment in their eyes.
"I just came to check if she was okay," Reya continued, her voice trembling with manufactured fear. "And she attacked me! She's clearly unstable!"
"I didn't—" I started, but the murmurs of the crowd drowned me out. Someone helped me out of the fountain, but their grip was cautious, wary, as if I might lash out at any moment.
Water streamed from my ruined dress, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. Through the gathering crowd, I caught a glimpse of Reya slipping away, her phone in hand, thumbs typing rapidly. The look she shot me over her shoulder was pure, triumphant malice.
I stood there, shivering and alone, as people whispered and pointed. This humiliation was somehow worse than what had happened inside—at least there, I'd understood what was happening. This felt like stepping into quicksand, each moment dragging me deeper into a nightmare I couldn't comprehend.
My phone buzzed in my sodden purse. With trembling fingers, I pulled it out, surprised it still worked. A text message from an unknown number glowed on the screen:
*Brooklyn, it's Melissa from accounting. I saw what happened in there. Meet me at the Westlake parking garage, level 3. I have information about Kylan and Reya you need to hear.*
I stared at the message, a tiny spark of hope flickering in my chest. Someone believed me. Someone wanted to help.
I had no idea I was walking straight into another trap.
