Amanda had frozen first. Then, she looked hurt. Then, her grief had sharpened into a blinding, vicious fury.
She had screamed at him, tears streaming down her face. She told him it was just her hair that had fallen out, that she was still the exact same woman. She had called him shallow, arrogant, and cruel. She said a real man wouldn't care about something so superficial. She mocked him for losing interest so fast and called him a pathetic, weak coward excuse of a man.
James thought she was being unfair.
In his mind, waking up covered in clumps of another person's falling hair would be enough to kill absolutely any man’s desire. He told himself repeatedly that he had nothing against Amanda being bald. It was a medical necessity. He just needed a little time to get the jarring image out of his head.
He did not admit, even in the darkest, most private corners of his own mind, how much her altered appearance actually bothered him now.
He rubbed his temples, tense and deeply irritated. He needed to feel like himself again.
The company gossip was still working in his favor. People in the office saw him exactly how he wanted to be seen: the poor, hardworking executive whose ungrateful wife had abandoned him and run straight into the arms of her best friend. That part helped soothe the sting of the weekend.
But Amanda was rapidly becoming a problem. She was angry, possessive, unpredictable, and humiliated. She was a liability.
James pushed his chair back from his desk, the leather squeaking in his expansive office. He ran a hand through his hair and marched down the hall to the executive break room to grab a coffee. He was desperate for a distraction from the mess his life was becoming.
A young, attractive junior analyst stood by the espresso machine, waiting for her drink to finish pouring. James put on a charming, weary smile as he approached. She met his gaze right away, her eyes brimming with sympathetic curiosity.
"How are you holding up, James?" she asked gently, her voice full of genuine concern. "Is there any news about Olivia?"
James effortlessly slipped right into his favorite role: the wounded husband. He let out a long, exhausted breath, resting his hip on the counter and letting his gaze drop to his expensive Italian leather shoes. "I think she has given up on us," he said, injecting just enough heartbreak into his tone. "I told her I was willing to forgive her mistakes, to do whatever it takes to save our marriage, but... it seems she has walked away for good."
Internally, he savored every second of the young woman's reaction. Her wide-eyed sympathy was an exquisite meal for his bruised ego. He reveled in the perception she had of him—a noble man, infinitely patient, enduring the ultimate betrayal. He wanted everyone in the firm to see him as the victim.
Out of nowhere, a searing, burning heat splashed directly across his lap.
James jerked backward with a harsh, guttural curse, his eyes dropping to the source of the pain.
An enormous cup of scalding dark roast had drenched the front of his tailored trousers, soaking through the fabric right over his crotch.
Amanda was standing right beside him, holding a crumpled paper cup. She wore an expression of wide-eyed, flawlessly performed false innocence.
"Oh, James! I am so sorry," Amanda gasped sweetly, reaching out with a napkin as if she were going to dab at his ruined suit pants. "I am just so terribly clumsy today. Please forgive me."
James felt his blood boil. He knew exactly what she had just done. This was no accident.
The junior analyst gasped, covering her mouth in shock. Amanda acted concerned enough to evade any direct accusation in front of a witness, but James locked eyes with her. Beneath her sweet veneer, he could see a cold, lethal fury burning bright. It was a clear warning.
Without another word, James spun on his heel and rushed out of the break room, making a beeline for the men's bathroom.
He locked the door behind him and grabbed a fistful of paper towels. Fortunately, the thick wool blend of his suit had absorbed the brunt of the liquid, saving him from severe burns. He scrubbed frantically at the dark, spreading stain on his trousers, his hands shaking violently with barely contained rage.
"Crazy," he muttered through gritted teeth.
Amanda had lost her damn mind. She was losing control, acting out like a petulant child, and if he wasn't careful, her reckless behavior was going to drag him right down into the mud with her.
***
That night, James drove home to his house.
The moment he unlocked the front door, he knew something was wrong.
The deadbolt functioned perfectly. The alarm system had not been tripped. But as soon as he stepped into the foyer, the air felt different.
The house had been ransacked.
It hadn't been robbed in an obvious, smash-and-grab way. The expensive electronics were still there. The silver was untouched. It was more like the house had been methodically searched, invaded, and disturbed.
