Ninety Days Left: The Dying Wife's Revenge

Three months.

The doctor's words echoed in Tessa's ears as she pushed her weight against the heavy glass doors of the Manhattan private clinic. The biting November wind whipped her trench coat around her legs, but she felt nothing. Her fingers gripped the crisp white diagnosis paper so tightly her knuckles turned a translucent white. Organ failure. A rare toxin. Ninety days left before her body completely shut down.

Her phone buzzed in her handbag, a harsh vibration against her hip. She reached in with a trembling hand and pulled it out. The screen lit up with a new message from an unsaved number. She swiped it open.

It was a photo. A man's wrist resting on tangled white hotel sheets, wearing a custom Patek Philippe watch. She recognized that watch. She had bought it for Lucian on their first anniversary. Below the image was a text from Vanessa.

Last night was exhausting. He really does not like going home to you, does he?

A violent spasm ripped through Tessa's stomach. She doubled over, pressing her free hand hard against her lower ribs to stop the tearing sensation inside her. She leaned her shoulder against the cold red brick wall of the building and fumbled in her pocket for her prescription painkiller bottle. Her fingers were numb. The plastic bottle slipped from her grasp, bounced on the concrete, and rolled directly through the iron grate of the sewer drain.

A yellow taxi sped past, splashing a wave of dirty street water onto the hem of her coat. Tessa bit down on her lower lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She did not make a sound.

She straightened her spine, raised her hand, and flagged down the next approaching cab. She pulled open the door and slid into the backseat.

"The Sinclair estate in Long Island," she told the driver. Her voice sounded like dry leaves scraping across pavement.

The Manhattan skyline blurred outside the window. The world outside rushed backward, much like the ninety days of life she had left. Why? Why should Vanessa have everything-the love, the health, the future-while she was left to die in agony and humiliation? No. She refused to fade away quietly. If she was going down, she would drag them down with her. A desperate, reckless idea began to take root in the frozen wasteland of her mind. Three years of marriage played in her mind. Three years of waiting in empty rooms, of being treated like a ghost in her own home, of watching her husband shower his attention on a socialite who constantly mocked her existence. A single cold tear slid down her cheek.

The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Tessa immediately sat up straighter. She pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped the moisture from her face, leaving no trace of weakness.

The cab rolled to a stop outside the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate. Tessa handed the driver a wad of cash, pushed the door open, and stepped out. Her heels crunched against the gravel driveway, the sound sharp and lonely in the quiet afternoon.

She pushed open the heavy oak front doors. The cavernous living room was perfectly clean and entirely devoid of warmth. She did not pause. She walked straight up the sweeping staircase and into the master bedroom.

Her eyes landed on the framed wedding photo on the nightstand. Lucian was looking at the camera with a blank expression. Tessa let out a short, hollow laugh. She reached out and slapped the silver frame face down against the wood.

She walked into the massive walk-in closet and pulled open the bottom drawer of the mahogany dresser. Underneath a pile of winter scarves lay a copy of their prenuptial agreement. The edges of the thick paper were slightly yellowed.

Tessa carried the document to the writing desk. She picked up a heavy fountain pen. She flipped to the page detailing the waiver of spousal support. Pressing the nib hard against the paper, she drew a thick, black line straight through the clause. The sharp metal tip tore right through the parchment.

Another wave of agony radiated from her abdomen. She gripped the edge of the desk, bending forward as cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She forced herself to breathe through the pain, counting the seconds until the spasm passed.

When she could stand upright again, she picked up her phone and dialed Lily's number.

"Tessa!" Lily's cheerful voice filled the speaker. "Are we still on for brunch this weekend? I found this amazing new place in Soho."

"I am divorcing Lucian," Tessa said. Her voice was completely flat.

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. The silence stretched for three seconds.

"I need you to do something for me," Tessa continued, not giving her friend time to process. "Contact that exclusive escort agency you mentioned last month. The one the Wall Street wives use. I want their most expensive male model."

"Tessa, what are you talking about?" Lily gasped. "Are you out of your mind? Lucian will destroy you if he finds out."

Tessa looked at her own pale reflection in the vanity mirror. "Book him, Lily. Tonight."

She hung up the phone and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The manicured lawns stretched out toward the ocean, green and perfect and suffocating. Her eyes were dead.

She turned to the closet and began pulling Lucian's bespoke suits off their hangers. She threw them onto the hardwood floor, one after another, watching the expensive fabric pile up like trash.

She walked over to her own section and pulled out a black silk slip dress. It was thin, revealing, and something she had never dared to wear around her conservative husband. She tossed it onto the center of the pristine white bed.

Her phone vibrated. Lily had sent an encrypted link.

Tessa tapped it. A sleek black webpage loaded, displaying profiles of men. She bypassed the descriptions and scrolled straight to the highest price tag. A man named Jax.

The system prompted her for a deposit. Tessa opened her wallet and pulled out the black limitless credit card Lucian had given her on their wedding day. She typed in the numbers.

A green checkmark appeared on the screen. Payment confirmed.

Tessa dropped the phone on the mattress and walked into the master bathroom. She turned the shower handle all the way to cold. The freezing water hit her skin like tiny needles, washing away the lingering scent of the hospital. She watched the water swirl down the drain, taking the last of her hesitation with it.

She stepped out, wrapped a thick towel around her body, and walked back into the bedroom. She picked up the small prescription bottle Lily had prepared for her from the nightstand. She tipped two white tablets into her palm.

She stared out at the darkening sky, placed the pills on her tongue, and swallowed them dry. A cold smile touched the corners of her mouth.

Tessa pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the penthouse suite at The Plaza Hotel. She wore the black silk slip dress, the fabric clinging to her chilled skin. The thick, plush carpet absorbed the sound of her heels as she stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit by flickering wall sconces. She walked straight to the crystal decanter on the wet bar and poured a generous measure of dark whiskey into a glass. Her wrist trembled slightly.

She opened her clutch and pulled out a small foil packet containing a mix of antidepressants and a mild hallucinogen Lily had secured for her anxiety months ago. She tossed the pills into her mouth and washed them down with the burning liquor. The fire traveled down her throat, settling in her chest.

The chemical reaction hit her bloodstream faster than she anticipated. The edges of the room began to blur and sway. Her knees buckled. She stumbled forward, her hands reaching out blindly until she collapsed onto the edge of the massive king-sized bed.

Down the hall, the elevator doors chimed and slid open. Lucian stepped out. The air around him seemed to freeze.

His assistant, Zane, hurried to keep pace with his long strides. Zane held a tablet, his voice low and urgent. "The black card charge originated from this floor, sir. Suite 808."

A muscle feathered along Lucian's jawline. His dark eyes were fixed on the door at the end of the corridor.

Around the corner, a tall man in a tailored suit was adjusting his bowtie, preparing to knock on the door of Suite 808. Jax, the agency's top earner.

Lucian did not slow down. He closed the distance in three strides, grabbed Jax by the lapels of his jacket, and slammed him backward against the silk-lined wallpaper.

Jax let out a choked gasp, his hands coming up to defend himself. Lucian drove his fist directly into the man's stomach. The sickening thud echoed in the quiet hallway. Jax folded in half, dropping to his knees, gasping for air.

Zane stepped forward smoothly, pinning the escort to the floor. He reached into Jax's jacket pocket, extracted the magnetic keycard, and handed it to Lucian.

Lucian took the card. His chest heaved with suppressed rage. His wife was inside that room, waiting for another man. The thought made his blood roar in his ears.

Zane opened the silver briefcase he had been carrying, revealing a pre-molded portable mask applicator. Lucian snatched the device from him. He turned his back to the hallway cameras, pressing his face into the contoured mold. Within five seconds, the thin, high-polymer silicone mask adhered seamlessly to his jawline and cheekbones, altering the sharp angles of his face into something entirely different. He quickly attached the micro voice-changer to his throat, adjusting the collar of his shirt to conceal it.

He swiped the keycard against the electronic lock. The light flashed green. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the noise of the hallway. The scent of expensive roses and Tessa's familiar vanilla perfume hit his senses.

He walked slowly toward the bedroom area. The only light came from the city glowing through the rain-streaked windows.

Tessa was curled on her side in the center of the bed. The thin strap of her black dress had slipped down her shoulder, exposing the pale curve of her collarbone.

Lucian's breathing hitched. He reached up and violently yanked his tie loose, tossing it onto the floor.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed onto the bed. He hovered over her, his large frame casting a dark shadow across her body.

Tessa opened her eyes. Her pupils were dilated from the drugs. The room was spinning, and the man above her was just a broad, imposing silhouette.

She reached up. Her skin was burning hot. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down. She murmured a soft, incoherent sound of approval.

The fact that she was welcoming a stranger shattered the last of Lucian's control. He lowered his head and captured her lips. It was not a gentle kiss. It was a punishment. His teeth scraped against her lower lip, tasting the faint trace of blood she had drawn earlier.

Tessa let out a small whimper of pain, but she did not push him away. Instead, her fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

His large hands slid down her bare back, the rough pads of his fingers sending violent shivers down her spine. As he leaned over her, an unfamiliar, aggressive scent of juniper and dark leather filled her senses, completely masking Lucian's usual crisp cedar cologne. The foreign aroma confirmed her hazy assumption that this was the stranger she had paid for. Her body reacted entirely on instinct, arching into his touch.

The sound of the thunderstorm outside masked the heavy breathing in the room. The temperature spiked.

Tessa's hands moved upward, trying to touch his face. Lucian caught both of her wrists in one hand. He pinned her arms above her head, pressing them firmly into the mattress. He could not risk her feeling the edges of the silicone mask.

His movements were demanding and possessive. He wanted to brand her, to erase the thought of any other man from her mind.

Tessa squeezed her eyes shut. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, sliding down her temple into her hair. The physical overload drowned out the pain in her organs, leaving only a chaotic mix of agony and release.

Hours later, the drugs and exhaustion finally pulled Tessa into a deep, dreamless sleep. Lucian sat on the edge of the bed in the dark. He stared down at her bruised lips and the tear tracks on her cheeks. His hands were curled into tight fists resting on his knees.

The morning sun sliced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, hitting Tessa directly in the eyes. She groaned and tried to turn her head.

A massive headache pounded against her skull. Her mouth was dry, and every muscle in her body ached with a deep, unfamiliar soreness. The memories of the night before rushed back in fragmented flashes of heat and rough hands.

She turned her head on the pillow. A man was lying next to her.

He was facing away from her. The white sheet was pooled around his waist, exposing a wide, muscular back. Long, angry red scratch marks trailed down his shoulder blades. Tessa's breath caught in her throat. She had done that.

The man shifted at the sound of her movement. He rolled over slowly.

Tessa stared at a face she had never seen before. He had sharp, handsome features, but there was a dangerous, predatory stillness about him. He was wearing the silicone mask, though she had no way of knowing. His dark eyes locked onto hers, heavy with sleep and something much darker.

Tessa instinctively pulled the sheet up to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. She forced her facial muscles to relax, masking her panic with a cold exterior.

"You must be Jax," she said, her voice raspy.

The man did not blink. A low, deeply resonant baritone, digitally lowered to be completely unrecognizable, vibrated from his throat. Tessa frowned slightly, her drug-addled brain processing the unnatural, electronic edge to his tone, but quickly dismissed it. It was likely just a high-end escort's standard privacy measure to protect his real identity. "Were you satisfied, client?"

The arrogant tone grated on her nerves. Tessa frowned, but she reached over to the nightstand and pulled her clutch toward her. She unzipped it and pulled out a folded document.

She tossed the paper onto his chest. "I am changing the terms. I want to hire you exclusively for the next three months. You will be on call twenty-four hours a day."

Lucian looked down at the paper. The words 'Employment Contract' were printed at the top. The temperature in the room plummeted. His wife was trying to put him on a payroll.

He picked up the paper, his fingers gripping the edges so hard the paper crumpled. He looked back at her, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. He decided to play her game, to push her until she broke.

"Exclusive access comes with a premium," he said, his altered voice dripping with mockery. He held up three fingers. "One hundred million a month. Three hundred million total."

He waited for her to gasp, to call him insane, to back down.

Tessa did not even blink. "Fine."

The single word hit Lucian like a physical blow. She was willing to throw away three hundred million dollars just to keep a male prostitute around. The jealousy and rage boiled over, burning a hole in his chest.

He sat up abruptly. The sheet fell away, exposing his chest. He leaned in close, trapping her against the headboard. The sheer physical dominance of his proximity made Tessa's chest tighten, but she refused to look away. She stared right back into his furious eyes.

Lucian snatched a pen from the nightstand. He flipped to the signature page of the contract. He pressed the pen down and slashed the name 'Ash' across the dotted line. The tip of the pen tore through the paper.

He threw the contract back at her. "Signal," he demanded coldly. "Download it. I don't use standard text."

Tessa picked up her phone. Her fingers were steady as she downloaded the encrypted messaging app and generated an anonymous QR code. She held the screen out to him.

Lucian reached into his discarded trousers on the floor and pulled out a burner phone Zane had provided. He scanned her code. A notification popped up on her screen, confirming the connection.

With the transaction complete, Tessa pushed the covers aside and stood up. She did not bother to cover herself as she walked over to her clothes scattered on the floor.

Lucian's eyes tracked her every movement. He watched the way the morning light hit the bruises he had left on her skin. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

Tessa pulled the black dress over her head. She picked up her phone, her fingers flying across the screen to initiate a transfer. She held up the confirmation screen, displaying a ten-million-dollar wire to the agency's holding account. "Your first advance payment," she said, her tone laced with deliberate, icy authority. "The rest depends entirely on your performance. As for your cab fare, I assume you can cover that yourself."

Lucian stared at the screen. The veins in his forearms bulged against his skin.

Tessa did not look back. She walked to the door, her hand wrapping around the cold metal handle. She pulled it open and stepped out into the hallway, letting the heavy door slam shut behind her.

The loud click of the lock echoed in the room.

Lucian grabbed a heavy crystal glass from the nightstand and hurled it across the room. The glass exploded against the far wall, raining down onto the carpet in a shower of sharp shards. He stared at his burner phone, his chest rising and falling in harsh, ragged breaths.