Chapter 3 3

Anjanette stood at the top of the grand staircase, gripping the banister until her knuckles turned white. She watched him.

Adam walked into the foyer, loosening his tie with one hand. He looked tired, the kind of weary satisfaction that comes after a long day of managing crises. He handed his jacket to Stevens without looking at him.

Where is she? Adam asked.

Mrs. Horton is upstairs, sir, Stevens replied quietly.

Adam looked up. When his eyes met hers, he didn't flinch. He didn't look guilty. He just looked annoyed.

Why are you standing there in the dark? he asked. And what are you wearing?

Anjanette walked down the stairs slowly, one step at a time. The pain in her arm was a dull throb now, overshadowed by the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Where were you? she asked. Her voice was steady, terrifyingly calm.

Adam sighed, walking past her toward the living room bar. Work. I heard you checked yourself out. That was irresponsible, Anjanette. The doctors wanted to keep you for observation.

Work, she repeated. Is the VIP maternity ward considered a satellite office now?

Adam froze. He was pouring a glass of scotch. The liquid splashed slightly over the rim. He set the bottle down slowly and turned to face her.

You followed me? His voice dropped an octave. It wasn't a question; it was an accusation.

I didn't have to, she said. You weren't exactly hiding. You carried her in, Adam. Like she was glass.

Adam took a sip of his drink. He leaned back against the mahogany bar, crossing his ankles. His casual arrogance was breathtaking.

Casie is having a difficult time. It's a high-risk pregnancy. She needed support.

Support, Anjanette laughed. It was a brittle, sharp sound. Twelve weeks of support? Since our anniversary?

Adam's jaw tightened. That was an accident. It wasn't planned.

An accident is spilling coffee, Adam. Sleeping with your ex-girlfriend in London while your wife sits at home is a choice.

He set the glass down hard. The sound echoed in the cavernous room.

Stop it, he said. His voice was cold steel. You're being hysterical. Casie is fragile. She's not like you. You... you can handle things. You're resilient. That's why I married you.

Resilient. It was a code word. It meant used to suffering. It meant low maintenance.

I married you because I thought you were different, he continued, walking toward her. He used his height to loom over her, a tactic that usually made her shrink back. But tonight, she stood her ground. This situation with Casie... it's complicated. But the child is a Horton. We have a duty to the family.

We? Anjanette asked. There is no 'we' anymore.

Adam rolled his eyes. Don't be dramatic. You're my wife. You're a Horton now. You signed the prenup. You know exactly what your life would look like without me.

He reached out to brush a stray hair from her forehead.

Anjanette flinched away as if his hand were a burning brand. Don't touch me. You smell like her.

Adam's hand hovered in the air, then dropped to his side. His expression hardened.

You're forgetting where you came from, Anjanette. That foster home in Ohio? The nothingness? I gave you a life. I gave you purpose. Don't throw a tantrum just because things got messy.

The air in the room seemed to vanish. He had said the quiet part out loud. To him, she was a rescue dog. A charity case he had plucked from obscurity to manage his schedule and warm his bed.

I want a divorce, she said.

Adam let out a short, derisive snort. He picked up his drink again.

No, you don't. You like the penthouse. You like the clothes. You like pretending to be someone who matters.

He took a sip, watching her over the rim of the glass.

Go to bed, Anjanette. Take a pill. We'll talk about this when you're rational.

He turned his back on her and walked into his study, closing the heavy oak doors with a definitive click.

Anjanette stood alone in the hallway. Mrs. Perry was dusting a vase in the corner, keeping her head resolutely down, pretending she hadn't just witnessed the execution of a marriage.

Anjanette looked at the closed door. A strange sensation washed over her. It wasn't sadness anymore. It was clarity.

She turned and walked toward the guest wing. She would not sleep in their bed tonight. She would not sleep in sheets that smelled of his lies.