Chapter 2

I didn't sleep that night.

At 7 a.m., Carter knocked on the guest room door.

"Madeline, what was that about last night?"

I opened the door, dressed and composed. "Nothing. I wasn't feeling well."

He studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "I have meetings tonight. Don't wait up."

Thursday.

"Of course," I said with a perfect wife's smile.

He left without kissing me goodbye. He never kissed me goodbye.

I called Becca, my best friend and the only person who knew the truth about my marriage.

"I need you tonight. Meridian Hotel. Suite 1208."

"What's at the Meridian?"

"My husband. And probably my sister."

Silence. Then: "I'll bring a camera."

At 8 p.m., I stood outside Suite 1208 with a keycard.

Becca had connections everywhere. Getting a master key took her exactly forty minutes and one phone call to the hotel manager, who owed her father a favor.

I could hear sounds through the door.

Laughter. A woman's voice—familiar, musical, the voice I grew up envying.

Sienna.

Becca grabbed my arm. "Are you sure?"

I swiped the keycard.

The door opened to rose petals on the floor. Champagne on ice. Candles everywhere.

Carter never lit candles for me.

They were on the sofa. Sienna was wearing a silk robe, her legs draped across Carter's lap. His jacket was off, his shirt unbuttoned, and his hand was on her thigh.

They froze.

"Madeline—" Carter stood up so fast he knocked over the champagne.

Sienna didn't even flinch. She looked at me with those catlike eyes and smiled. "Oh. Hello, sister."

No panic. No guilt. Just amusement.

I looked at the suite—the flowers, the champagne, the matching robes hanging on the bathroom door. This wasn't a first visit. This was a ritual.

"How long?" I asked Carter.

He ran his hand through his hair. "It's not what you think—"

"How. Long."

Sienna answered for him. "Since before your wedding, actually." She tilted her head. "Did you really think he married you because he wanted you?"

Carter snapped, "Sienna, shut up."

But she continued, eyes locked on mine. "He begged me to come back. I said I would—when I was ready. You were just keeping my seat warm, Madeline."

The room was spinning, but I forced myself to stand straight.

Carter stepped toward me. "Madeline, let me explain—"

"Every Tuesday and Thursday," I said quietly. "For three years?"

His silence was the loudest answer.

I nodded slowly. "I see."

Then I turned and walked out.

No screaming. No crying. No scene.

Behind me, I heard Carter call my name once. He didn't follow.

In the elevator, Becca held up her phone. She had recorded everything from the doorway—the rose petals, the robes, Sienna's confession, Carter's silence.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

I watched the elevator numbers descend.

"I want a divorce."

Becca nodded. "And Sienna?"

My reflection stared back at me in the elevator's mirror—pale, hollow-eyed, but steady.

"I want her to have exactly what she wants. Carter, the Blackwell name, all of it." I paused. "And then I want to watch her lose everything."

The elevator doors opened.

Standing in the lobby, holding a bouquet of white lilies, was someone I hadn't seen in four years.

Dominic Hale.

The man who once told me he'd wait forever.