The Secret Genius Ex-Wife's Cold Revenge

smeared streaks of gold and gray. Erica Duffy stood motionless, her forehead resting against the cold glass.

on her wrist. It was a cheap piece she had bought

ee

ing on which version of Dillard Bentley was out ther

reached for the document she had printed hours ago. The paper felt heavy, substantial. Divorce Agreement.

ote, burying them beneath a polyester scarf and her wallet. Her hand t

heerful ding that sounded viol

s of her mouth up, checking the reflection in the da

ne, and the sharp bite of whiskey. He didn't look at her. He never did, not really. He walked past her as if she

scent hit her. It wasn't just rain and whiskey. Beneath it lay the innocent, delicate scent of Lily of

is

ing into the expensive wool of his lapel. She stared at the back of his white d

, rough from smoke or shouting or whis

marble, a lonely rhythm. She filled a crystal glass wi

ing up. Their fingers brushed. His skin was hot, feve

finally swept over her, taking in the high-necked cotton nightgown that covered her from throat to

om," h

nvitation. It

. He didn't touch her face. He simply took what the contract said was his. His movements were mechanical, ef

ood up and walked to the bathroom. The shower turne

the ceiling. Her body ached with a dull, throbbi

wrapped around his waist. He picked up his phone

crinkling at the edges. It was a look of such tenderness it made Erica's breath hit

ing the phone back onto the table.

Her voice was steady. It

hind him. The elevator hummed, taking him ba

ent again. Her phone buzzed on

The screen glare s

ht with Socialite Brisa Combs

on the small of her back. He was looking down at her with that same tenderness Erica had just seen. The timestamp was 1:45 a.m. More than an hour before

p a year ago. She felt a cold clarity w

nt. She uncapped her fountain pen. The nib scratch

a Du

of his black American Express card. He couldn't miss it