Chapter 2

Ciara remained on the sofa, a statue in the dark, until the gray light of dawn seeped through the windows, stinging her dry, tired eyes.

She reached for the glass of water on the coffee table. It was cold. She took a sip, trying to quell the nausea that was rolling in her stomach.

Her phone screen lit up. A push notification from Page Six. Breaking News.

She swiped it open. The image loaded instantly, a high-resolution photograph of Jordon at JFK, shielding a woman from the paparazzi.

He was holding his coat around her, a protective, possessive gesture. The headline screamed: JORDON WEBB REKINDLES OLD FLAME IN LATE-NIGHT DASH.

Ciara's breath hitched. It was the same coat he'd been wearing last night. The air in her lungs turned to ice.

Her fingers, trembling, zoomed in on the photo. She saw the woman's wrist, and on it, a distinctive, vintage Cartier bracelet.

Jasmine's bracelet.

The world tilted. The phone slipped from her numb fingers, landing silently on the thick rug.

She shot to her feet, a violent cramp seizing her stomach. She doubled over, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle a gag.

Deep breaths. She forced herself to be calm. She picked up the phone, her movements jerky, and found Jordon's number in her contacts.

She pressed call. The long, rhythmic beeping in her ear was a form of torture, each second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, someone picked up. But it wasn't Jordon's deep, familiar voice. It was a soft, feminine sigh.

"Hello?" Jasmine's voice was lazy, thick with sleep. In the background, Ciara could hear the faint, steady beep of a hospital monitor.

A lightning bolt of pure, cold shock shot through Ciara. "Where is Jordon?" she demanded, her voice sharp, unrecognizable.

Jasmine chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Jordon was up with me all night. He just fell asleep. I wouldn't want to disturb him."

Ciara's chest felt like it was being crushed. "Put him on the phone, Jasmine," she snarled, the last of her composure shattering.

"Oh, my," Jasmine feigned surprise. "You don't have to be so aggressive. I was just so scared after my... episode. Jordon was the only one I could call." The implication hung in the air: He chose me.

In the background, Ciara heard Jordon's muffled voice asking who it was.

"It's nothing, baby," Jasmine cooed, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "I'll handle it."

The line went dead.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear. A violent wave of nausea hit her, and she bolted for the bathroom.

She retched over the sink, but nothing came up. Hot, silent tears streamed down her face, splashing onto the cold marble.

She turned on the faucet, splashing icy water on her face. She looked up, meeting her own reflection in the mirror. Her skin was pale, her eyes bloodshot. She looked pathetic.

A decade of loving him from afar. Three years of this humiliating, contractual marriage of convenience, playing the perfect, quiet shadow. For what? For this.

The softness in her eyes hardened. The sorrow receded, replaced by a cold, sharp-edged fury. She straightened up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She strode into their massive walk-in closet, past the rows of soft, cashmere dresses and sensible flats that screamed 'demure wife.' She pulled out a black, custom-tailored power suit.

The sharp lines of the blazer felt like armor. She slipped on a pair of dangerously high stiletto heels.

She put on a pair of large, dark sunglasses, hiding the evidence of her tears and the vulnerability in her eyes.

She grabbed her handbag, took the folded lab report from her coat pocket, and tucked it deep inside an inner zippered compartment.

At the entryway, she pressed the button for the smart home system. "Have the car ready," she commanded, her voice devoid of emotion. "I'm going to Wall Street."

She pushed open the heavy apartment door and walked toward the elevator, her heels clicking with purpose on the marble floor. She was no longer the woman who waited.

She slid into the back of the waiting sedan.

"Webb Capital," she said, her eyes fixed straight ahead. "And don't spare the horses."

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