The air in the dark room became suffocating and lethal.
Vanessa stopped. She backed away, sitting on her heels on the floor, and looked down before looking up at James's face.
James felt his face burn with a shame so deep it bordered on nausea. He tried to pull himself together. "I... I had too much scotch. I'm exhausted."
Vanessa forced an understanding smile. She reached out to touch his knee, trying to seem sweet and affectionate. "It's okay, James. Don't worry about it, seriously. It's perfectly normal."
But James noticed.
He saw the slight twitch at the corner of her lips. He saw her catch her breath. Vanessa was fighting like hell not to laugh. She pitied him, but more than that, she found the situation pathetic and comical. That arrogant man, who had exuded confidence at the bar, was now sitting on the edge of the bed, useless.
"It happens to everyone," she added, her voice coming out a pitch higher than normal, confirming her attempt to hold back a laugh.
The humiliation swallowed James whole. He had never felt like such a failure, so emasculated, so pathetic in his life. He shoved her hands away roughly, getting up from the bed and turning his back as he adjusted his pants and pulled up his zipper with hands shaking with rage.
He clenched his fists until his fingernails dug into his palms. He didn't blame himself. He didn't blame the stress. The blame belonged to Amanda. Amanda had ruined him. She had destroyed his marriage, his peace of mind, and now, she had destroyed even his ability to be a man in bed.
Breathing unevenly, consumed by a blind, humiliating hatred, James stood in the hotel room and cursed the moment he had let Amanda into his life.
***
Amanda
Amanda sat at her kitchen island, staring at the large arrangement of white orchids that had been delivered that morning.
There was no signature on the heavy cardstock, only a vague, typed promise:Everything will be okay.
Amanda knew it was from James. He had been making these little gestures over the past few months. A diamond tennis bracelet had arrived the other day. Her favorite expensive takeout was delivered with a discreet note that said I love you. They were small offerings. Proof that he was trying to soothe her temper without truly putting himself on the line.
Amanda traced the petal of an orchid, telling herself the gestures mattered.
She told herself his visceral, horrifying reaction to her hair was just natural. Anyone would be deeply shaken if their lover completely changed their appearance overnight. She tried to convince herself she might have reacted just as strangely if it had happened to him.
She reached up, adjusting the silk scarf wrapped around her head. The doctors had run a battery of tests, but they had never found anything conclusive. There was no clear answer. No definitive proof of what had caused the shedding. She was undergoing expensive topical treatments, and the skin was no longer as raw or frightening as it had been that first morning. It was taking a long time to return to normal, and it was still devastating. She told herself the hair loss was temporary—now that her skin looked better, it would grow back. Money could fix a lot of things. James’s money could fix even more, once this entire nightmare was over.
She had been hard on him, she reasoned. He was going through a messy divorce. He was under immense corporate pressure. He was being targeted by Olivia’s lawsuit, and he had to manage his public image.
Amanda thought of Olivia with a surge of hot, bitter contempt.
She was furious that the frumpy, chubby baker had the nerve to sue her for alienation of affection. In Amanda’s mind, Olivia was a useless, pathetic, greedy woman who couldn't keep her husband satisfied. Amanda wanted to see Olivia try to prove a single thing in a courtroom.
Amanda smiled tightly to herself, leaning back in her chair. She had been careful from the very beginning. She hadn't risked her career for amateur mistakes. She hadn't risked James’s career, either.
They had been so smart. Using her sister’s name for reservations when needed. Prepaid cards when they could get away with them. Cash whenever a hotel allowed it. Choosing expensive, highly discreet hotels where discretion was part of the price, places that knew better than to ask unnecessary questions, even if cameras, clerks, and records still existed somewhere. Avoiding any obvious electronic trail that tied them together too neatly.
Amanda believed Olivia had absolutely nothing. No hard proof. No clean paper trail. No way to show a judge the full, undeniable shape of the affair.
Soon, Amanda told herself, all of this chaotic noise would end. James would survive the divorce with his assets intact. Olivia would lose the narrative, humiliated in court. Leo would be successfully painted as the predatory man who pulled a fragile wife away. And Amanda would finally take the place she firmly believed was hers.
Mrs. James Williams.
She savored the fantasy, finishing her coffee.
***
The next afternoon, the doorman sent up a thick manila envelope.
There was no return address. At first, Amanda assumed it was another piece of jewelry or an apology gift from James. She carried it to the sofa, sliding her manicured finger under the seal.
