She pulled out a stack of glossy, high-resolution photographs.
Amanda froze.
The initial image showed James sitting in a dimly lit, expensive restaurant. He wasn't alone. He was with a woman—a beautiful, blonde woman. In the next shot, James was leaning in too close across the table, his hand resting intimately over hers. Then came a photo taken in a carpeted hotel hallway. James was pressing the blonde woman against the wall, kissing her deeply, his hand tangled in her hair.
Another photo was time-stamped for the next morning. James was walking her out of the hotel room, fixing his tie.
But it didn't stop there. As she flipped through the stack, the blonde woman disappeared, replaced by a brunette in the exact same hallway. Then a redhead at the same restaurant table. There were dozens of them. Different faces, different nights. It was a carousel of women.
Pure, blinding rage hit Amanda so hard she physically staggered back against the sofa.
She screamed. A raw, guttural sound of pure agony.
She tore through the rest of the photos, frantically searching for some logical explanation, some angle that would make them less real. There was none.
None of these women were Olivia. None of them were Amanda.
James had been playing the tragically wounded husband at the office. He had been playing the devoted, apologetic lover to Amanda, sending her expensive orchids anddiamond bracelets. And the entire time, he had been taking a string of other women to a hotel.
Amanda began to spiral. The room spun wildly around her. She felt humiliated in the exact, excruciating way she had once so thoroughly enjoyed watching Olivia be humiliated.
She couldn't stop looking at the photos. With shaking hands, Amanda tipped the envelope upside down.
A small, thick piece of cardstock fell out and landed on the coffee table.
There was a phone number written on it in black ink. Underneath the number was a single, typed warning:
He can go down alone, or you can go down with him.
Amanda stared at the words, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
The message was crystal clear.
Her mind raced, connecting the terrifying dots.
Amanda realized with sickening clarity that she might not be the woman James ultimately chose. She might just be the next woman he discarded to save himself.
She grabbed her phone with trembling fingers.
Amanda looked at the photos one more time, then at the card. For almost a year, she had helped James make Olivia look like an absolute fool. Now, someone was standing in the shadows, offering her a very simple choice: remain a fool, or make him bleed first.
She dialed the number before she could talk herself out of it.
If James wanted to leave someone buried under his lies, it was not going to be her.
Chapter 26
Leo
Leo stood by the window in his study, holding his burner phone to his ear, staring out at the manicured lawn. The morning air was cool, but inside, his chest was tight with anticipation.
“Everything is on track,” Nash’s calm, almost amused voice echoed through the speaker.
“Are you sure?” Leo asked, keeping his tone carefully controlled, though his grip on the phone tightened.
“I don't make mistakes, Leo,” Nash said easily. “The last part you requested is queued up. It will be handled at exactly the right moment.”
Leo exhaled a slow breath. “What about the emails?”
