Chapter 4 4

Deliah managed to get through her mother's appointment without breaking down, though she retained almost nothing of what the doctor said. She nodded at the right times, smiled when appropriate, and held her mother's hand, all while her mind was stuck in that elevator lobby.

She drove her parents back to their small, rental home in Queens. It was a modest house, cluttered and warm, a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of the penthouse.

As she helped her mother up the front steps, a sleek car pulled into the driveway behind her Audi.

Deliah froze. She knew the engine purr.

It was Jere. He stepped out of the car, looking immaculate in a fresh suit, holding a large, cellophane-wrapped fruit basket. He looked like the picture of success. He looked like a man who hadn't spent the night in a hospital room with another woman.

"Mom, Dad," Jere called out, his voice booming with warmth. "Sorry I'm late."

Eleanor beamed, her face lighting up. "Oh, Jere! You're so busy, thank you for coming all this way."

Jere walked up the steps and put an arm around Deliah's waist. His grip was firm. Deliah stiffened, her muscles locking up.

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Smile," he whispered, his tone dropping to that dangerous, low pitch. "Don't worry them."

Deliah forced the corners of her mouth up. It felt like her face might crack. She felt like a prop in his carefully directed play.

They sat in the small living room. The furniture was worn, the carpet faded. Jere sat on the loveseat, taking up too much space, playing the perfect son-in-law. He asked Arthur, Deliah's father, about his old business contacts with a respectful tone that bordered on reverence.

Deliah watched him from the armchair, nauseous at his duality. How could he be this person here, and that person at the hospital?

Jere's phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at it, then flipped it face down. "Family first," he said with a charming smile.

Eleanor sighed happily. "Deliah is so lucky to have you, Jere. You take such good care of us."

Deliah felt like she was suffocating. "I'm going to make tea," she blurted out, standing up too fast.

She fled to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, gripping the edge of the sink, hyperventilating. The walls felt like they were closing in. She pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.

She typed into the search bar: Divorce Attorney Manhattan.

A list populated. She clicked on the first one that looked discreet and aggressive. Ethan Vance, Family Law.

She filled out the secure inquiry form on the website. Name: Deliah Hines. Reason: Adultery. Assets: Complicated.

She hit send.

"Need help?"

Deliah jumped, locking her phone screen instantly. Jere was standing in the doorway, the smile gone from his face.

He looked at her closely, his eyes narrowing. "You're acting strange today. You were quiet in the car, quiet with your parents."

"Am I?" Deliah challenged, her voice low. "Or are you just guilty?"

Jere frowned. He stepped into the kitchen, closing the distance between them. "Stop with the attitude, Deliah. I am doing this for your parents. Do you want them to worry? Do you want your father stressing about the debt again?"

The threat hung in the air. He didn't say it explicitly, but the implication was clear: I pay for their peace. I own their stability.

Deliah realized with clarity that she was trapped. Her family's financial survival was the cage, and Jere held the key.

She nodded slowly, swallowing her rage. "Fine. Let's play happy family."

"Good," Jere said. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's my girl."

They returned to the living room, hand in hand, a perfect, beautiful lie. As she sat down, Deliah's phone vibrated in her pocket. It was an auto-reply from Ethan Vance's office.

We have received your inquiry.

It was the first step.