I glance at the time. If I leave now, I can be in Chicago by ten o’clock. Without a second thought, I pack a bag and tell the pilot to prepare the jet.
In the small cabin at the back of the jet, I change into a black dress that falls just below my knees, molds to every curve, and has a heart-shaped neckline. I touch up my makeup and curl my hair. I look composed, more like a woman who has her shit together. I’m not above using every weapon in my arsenal to disarm him. He’s attracted to me, and he is going to swallow his goodbye.
He can’t simply leave me. If anyone is leaving, it’s me.
Tone down the petty, my inner voice whispers.
A headache throbs behind my temples, and as I rub them, I look into the mirror. “You’re a freaking mess of epic proportions,” I mouth to my reflection before sighing, the deep sound ringing with frustration.
I had to find my way alone.
Had to be strong when all I wanted was to give up.
This man won’t be the exception.
Squaring my shoulders, I return to my seat, ready for landing.
On the tarmac, one of my men checks the surroundings before opening the door to a tinted SUV while the other two flank me.
I trust these men with my life—or I used to, until my husband so easily penetrated my compound. It reinforces the belief that I chose right if they fear him, but it angers me that they think I wouldn’t kill them if they betrayed me.
I am not one for brute force, but I do believe in making a statement. The last traitor ended up chained in the backyard. Snuffing out hope is much crueler than taking a life. Starvation is an atrocious way to go, from what I witnessed.
He starts the car, knowing exactly where to take me.
If we have one intense encounter followed by a week of separation, it diminishes the chances of falling in love to slim. I will talk to Vian, set some ground rules, sleep, and then head back home. I have important meetings next week, and I should focus on work, not my husband’s tantrums.
I look out the window, Chicago glowing under the streetlights. After so many years spent in seclusion, I thought city life would overwhelm me, but as I people-watch, everyone looks engrossed in their own lives, the anonymity surprisingly appealing.
I see the glass skyscraper towering over the city like a sentinel, not letting anyone forget who’s in charge. My husband is a show-off. We couldn’t be more different if we tried.
As soon as the driver parks in the underground garage, Vian’s men peer from the car to each other in obvious confusion.
One rushes to open my door. “Ma’am, welcome home.”
I am about to refute that this will never be my home, but I nod instead.
With one gesture, my men stop at the car, waiting for new orders.
Nerves mix with excitement while I wait for the private elevator to arrive.
Breaking the silence, one guard clears his throat. “Ma’am, the boss is not home.”
“Where is he?”
“At a gala, but I’ll let him know.” He plucks his phone from his pocket, and I snatch it.
“I would like to surprise my husband,” I say in a sweet voice, expecting cavities to appear any second now.
Vian didn’t think to inform me. The asshole. He won’t keep me in the dark like a secret. Oh, he chose the wrong wife for that.
“Where is this gala being held?”
Another one gives me the address, and I keep my fake smile plastered on my face. “If any of you inform my husband and ruin my surprise, I will be very mad.” The underlying threat hits its mark as they share another contrite look but dip their chins in agreement.
I don’t want them to get into trouble, and I won’t let my husband treat them as casualties. It’s our war, and I guess using each other’s men is our go-to strategy.
I take the elevator upstairs and find a black, shimmering satin gown waiting for me in our closet, as if he knew I couldn’t stay away. With an asymmetrical one-shoulder neckline, structured mermaid bodice, full train, and side slit, it’s elegant and sensual—perfect for a grand entrance and tonight’s event.
