Chapter 6

A few days later.

Alaya walked down the opulent, heavily carpeted corridor of The Plaza Hotel. She wore a razor-sharp, white Tom Ford suit that tailored perfectly to her waist. Her stiletto heels sank slightly into the plush fabric, muffling her footsteps.

She had just finished inspecting the grand ballroom for the upcoming Hewitt Corporation annual charity gala. She kept her eyes glued to the tablet in her hands, scrolling through the security protocols.

As she rounded a corner near the VIP lounges, a sharp, desperate voice leaked through a partially open door.

Alaya stopped dead. Her stomach dropped. She recognized that low, suppressed baritone anywhere.

She moved silently toward the heavy oak door. She pressed her shoulder against the wall and peered through the two-inch gap.

Hardy stood with his back to the door. He was wearing a charcoal suit, his posture rigid and imposing. Standing directly in front of him, wearing a fragile white sundress, was Kelsi Warner.

Kelsi's eyes were rimmed with red. She reached out with both hands and grabbed the fabric of Hardy's suit sleeves. Her knuckles were white.

"How much longer do I have to wait?" Kelsi cried, her voice thick with tears. "You promised me you were going to divorce her!"

Outside the door, Alaya's breath hitched. She had suspected it, she had known it in her bones, but hearing the word "divorce" come out of the mistress's mouth made physical bile rise in the back of her throat. It was disgusting.

Inside the room, Hardy's broad shoulders tensed. He looked down at Kelsi with a gaze so heavy with control and dominance it looked suffocating.

He reached up and grabbed Kelsi's wrists. He didn't do it gently. He squeezed her delicate bones with enough force to make her gasp. He ripped her hands off his suit.

"Remember your place," Hardy warned. His voice was a lethal, freezing whisper. "I give you enough money to keep your mouth shut. Do not ever attempt to interfere with my marriage again."

Kelsi shrank back, her shoulders trembling. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to look small and pitiful, begging for his sympathy.

Hardy did not blink. His face remained a mask of stone. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and meticulously wiped the skin on his wrists where Kelsi had touched him. The gesture was dripping with absolute physical revulsion.

Watching through the crack in the door, Alaya did not feel the triumphant vindication of a wife catching a cheating husband. Instead, a cold shiver ran down her spine.

She saw the terrifying, obsessive control Hardy wielded. He didn't love her, and he clearly didn't love Kelsi. He was a psychopath playing a power game with two women, treating them both like objects to be managed.

Alaya pulled her phone from her pocket. Her hands were completely steady. She opened the voice memo app and hit record. She captured the audio of Kelsi sobbing and Hardy explicitly mentioning the money he paid her.

She hit stop and saved the file. She didn't feel the urge to kick the door open and scream. She was completely done.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from inside the room. Kelsi had grabbed a crystal vase from the side table and hurled it against the wall in a fit of hysterical rage.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway as hotel security rushed toward the noise.

Alaya quickly stepped backward, pressing herself deep into the dark shadow of a massive marble pillar.

The door to the VIP lounge was yanked open. Hardy marched out. His face was thunderous, radiating a dark, violent energy that made the approaching security guards hesitate.

Kelsi ran to the doorway, sobbing his name.

Hardy stopped. He turned his head and shot her a look so cold it seemed to freeze the air in the hallway. Kelsi froze, terrified.

Hardy adjusted his tie and turned to walk toward the main elevators. As he passed the marble pillar, his footsteps suddenly faltered.

He stopped completely. A glint on the floor caught his eye. It was a small, custom-made diamond hairpin he had gifted her-one she had deliberately discarded on the marble tiles. His heart stopped. She was here.

He snapped his head toward the shadows, his heart slamming violently against his ribcage.

Alaya knew she was caught. She didn't flinch. She stepped out of the darkness, the heels of her shoes clicking sharply against the marble floor.

Their eyes met.

For the first time since she had known him, Alaya saw genuine, naked panic flash across Hardy's dark eyes. He took a half-step toward her, his mouth opening to speak.

Alaya didn't let him. She tilted her chin up. She looked him up and down, from his expensive shoes to his perfectly styled hair, with a look of absolute, unadulterated disgust. It was the look one gives a piece of rotting garbage on the sidewalk.

She didn't say a single word. She pulled her large black sunglasses from her purse and slid them onto her face, completely blocking him out.

She turned her shoulder and walked right past him, heading toward the private VIP exit.

Hardy stood frozen in the center of the hallway. The sight of that discarded hairpin wrapped around him like a noose. A cold, paralyzing terror gripped his chest. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he was losing her.