Chapter 5

"A travel agency," I said, slipping the phone back into my purse. "Confirming a spa weekend I booked for my mom."

The lie came easily. I was getting good at them.

He bought it, his expression softening into one of exaggerated concern. He pulled me into a hug, his chin resting on top of my head. "That' s so sweet of you, Eli. You' re the best daughter. The best wife."

His touch made my skin crawl. I felt the familiar wave of nausea rise again.

"I think I' m going to be sick," I said, pushing him away.

"It' s those damn scallops," he fumed. "I' m going to call that restaurant and have their heads. No one makes my wife sick."

"Dustin, stop it!" I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. The sudden venom in my tone surprised even me.

He looked taken aback, his eyes wide with confusion. "Eli? What' s wrong?" He tried to touch my arm, and I recoiled.

"Don' t," I said. I took a deep breath, reining in the anger. "I' m sorry. I just... I have a headache. I don' t want you to make a scene."

"Okay, baby. Okay," he said, his voice soft and placating. "Whatever you want."

The sky outside the massive window had turned a bruised purple. A storm was rolling in. It matched the tempest in my soul.

I went to the private bathroom adjoining his office and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked pale, my eyes shadowed with a pain he was too blind to see.

He appeared in the reflection behind me, his expression one of perfect, practiced worry.

Was he even capable of genuine emotion? Or was it all just an act, a part he played to get what he wanted?

Society forgave men like Dustin. They were powerful, charismatic. They made mistakes, sure. A little slip-up. A dalliance. The world would wag its finger, then welcome him back with open arms. The wife was expected to stand by him, a silent, smiling prop. Forgive and forget.

Not this wife. Not anymore. I would not accept a love that was fractured, a commitment that was a lie. I deserved more. I deserved whole.

Or I would have nothing at all.

"Let' s get you to a doctor," he said, his hand on my back. "I know a guy. The best in the city. He' ll see you right away."

We went to a private clinic that catered to the ultra-rich. The doctor, a man with silver hair and a kind smile, ran some tests.

"It' s not food poisoning," he said, looking at me over his spectacles. "It' s stress. A severe psychosomatic reaction to emotional distress."

Dustin was in the waiting room. The doctor called him in.

"Is she okay?" Dustin asked, all anxious husband.

"Physically, she' s fine," the doctor said. "But her body is reacting to something that' s causing her great emotional pain. Has something happened recently? A loss? A shock?"

Dustin looked at me, a question in his eyes. "Eli? Is there something you' re not telling me?"

I just shook my head.

"Whatever it is, I can fix it," Dustin said, turning back to the doctor, his voice full of his usual arrogance. "Just tell me who to call, who to sue, who to fire."

I almost laughed. You can' t fire a mistress who' s carrying your child, Dustin. You can' t sue your own lies.

The one person who could fix this was me. And my solution was to disappear.

I was going to chase my own dream. My photography. The career I' d put on hold for him, for his rise. I would find my own peace, my own future.

"I' m going to take the rest of the week off," he announced on the way home. "We' ll just relax. Maybe go to the beach house."

"And your big presentation?" I asked.

"I' ll have Jami handle it," he said, without a trace of irony.

His second phone rang. The one in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening.

"Ignore it," I said.

"It' s work," he said.

"You promised," I said, my voice quiet. "You promised you' d be all mine."

I saw the flicker of annoyance, the struggle. He wanted to take the call.

"Let them wait," I said, a challenge in my voice.

He looked at me, then back at the ringing phone. Finally, with a sigh, he silenced it.

But a moment later, it rang again.

I could hear a faint, tinny sound from the receiver. A woman crying.

He saw the look on my face and quickly lowered the volume. "It' s just Jami," he said, his voice a little too casual. "Her mom is sick."

"Oh, the poor thing," I said, my voice dripping with false sympathy. "You should go to her. She clearly needs you."

He looked relieved. "You' re sure? I can be back in an hour."

"Take your time," I said. "Family is important."

He gave me a quick, grateful kiss and got out of the car. I watched him jog across the street, not towards the office, but towards the luxury condo building where I now knew she lived.

Jami' s text came a moment later. A picture of her, looking tearful, holding a positive pregnancy test.

The caption read: 'He' s all mine now. You lose.'