The wall clock in the dark living room ticked. Two in the morning.
Herminia Goodman sat frozen on the cold leather sofa. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan penthouse displayed a city that never slept, but inside, the air was dead.
Suddenly, the screen of her phone lit up on the glass coffee table.
The sudden harsh light broke the suffocating silence. Herminia leaned forward. Her fingers were stiff as she picked up the device. It was a multimedia message from an unknown number.
She tapped the screen. A high-definition photo loaded.
Her breath stopped in her throat.
It was Bradley. He was lying in a bed, his eyes closed in peaceful sleep. But it was the background that made the blood drain from her face. She recognized the custom silk sheets. It was their master bedroom.
At the edge of the frame, a woman's hand with bright red nail polish rested intimately against Bradley's bare chest.
A second message popped up immediately.
"Sister, my brother-in-law looks so handsome when he sleeps. It's a pity you never get to see this."
Herminia's knuckles turned stark white as she gripped the phone.
She knew that tone. She knew that red nail polish. It was Kristal Rodriguez. Her half-sister.
A wave of pure nausea rolled through her stomach. It felt like she had swallowed a basin of ice water. She slammed the phone face-down on the table.
The sound of the front door unlocking echoed in the hallway.
The heavy oak door pushed open. The warm light from the corridor spilled into the entryway. Bradley Elliott walked in, bringing the chill of the autumn night with him.
He casually tossed his tailored suit jacket onto the coat rack and tugged at his tie, loosening it.
He paused, noticing the shadow on the sofa. He frowned and hit the switch on the wall. The crystal chandelier flooded the room with blinding light.
Herminia squinted against the glare. She stared blankly at the man walking toward her.
As he got closer, a specific scent hit her. It was a sweet, cloying vanilla perfume. Kristal's signature scent.
Herminia stood up. Her voice was completely flat. "Where were you tonight?"
Bradley's eyes shifted away for a fraction of a second. He rubbed his jaw. "Working late at the company. We had a crisis."
A dry, hollow laugh escaped Herminia's lips. She picked up the phone from the table.
She walked up to him and shoved the bright screen directly against his chest. "Working?"
Bradley looked down. His pupils shrank instantly. The color drained from his face, replaced quickly by a dark, stormy red.
He snatched the phone from her hand. "Where did you get this photoshopped garbage?"
Herminia watched him. His first instinct was to lie. To cover it up. The last ounce of warmth in her chest turned to solid ice.
"Look at the background, Bradley," she said, her voice eerily calm. "That custom bedside lamp. There is only one in the world. It's in our bedroom."
Caught in the lie, Bradley's face twisted in anger. He threw the phone hard onto the sofa.
"Fine!" he raised his voice, the veins in his neck popping. "Kristal is terrified of thunderstorms. She was having a panic attack. I went to the guest room to calm her down. Nothing happened!"
"You needed to take your shirt off to calm her down?" Herminia asked. "You needed to get into bed with her?"
Bradley looked away, his jaw clenching. "She just got back to the country. She has no sense of security. You are her sister. Why is your mind so dirty?"
Hearing him defend the other woman without a second of hesitation made Herminia's chest feel like it was being crushed by a concrete block.
She took a slow step back. She looked at him from head to toe, as if she were looking at a complete stranger.