Chapter 1 - The Exit Route
The cool October wind biting through the wool of Emily’s maternity coat felt less like a shock and more like an awakening.
The velvet silence of the Grand Marlo’s private driveway wrapped around her as she stepped away from the valets and toward the quiet stretch of the curb where taxis idled. Her left hand felt oddly light, the absence of the three-carat platinum diamond band leaving a pale, phantom indentation on her skin that seemed to pulse with a dull, echoing ache.
Thirty-five weeks pregnant. Twins pressing hard against her ribs. No keys to the estate in Westchester, no spare cash beyond the forty dollars tucked into the lining of her purse, and a burning, absolute clarity that she had stayed in the wreckage three years longer than love required.
A sleek black town car pulled up, its hazard lights blinking lazily against the dark pavement.
Emily didn't hail a cab. She walked straight to the passenger window of the town car, tapped twice on the tinted glass, and watched as it rolled down smoothly to reveal the face of Sarah Vance—her closest friend and former corporate legal counsel before she stepped away to prepare for the children.
"Get in, Emily," Sarah said quietly, her voice devoid of panic, loaded instead with a cold, coiled fury. The passenger door clicked open from the inside. "I’ve been parked two blocks down since eight o’clock. I saw the flashbulbs. I saw him with her."
Emily pulled her champagne silk gown around her knees and slid into the leather passenger seat, letting out a long, shuddering breath that fogged the windshield.
"You didn't have to wait out here, Sarah," Emily murmured, leaning her head back against the headrest.
"Like hell I didn't," Sarah snapped, shifting the car into drive and pulling cleanly away from the curb before the ballroom doors could even begin to open. "Mason thinks he's untouchable because his tech firm closed a two-billion-dollar valuation this morning. He forgot who drafted every single patent, negotiated every venture capital term sheet, and built the corporate governance structure that legally owns seventy percent of Hartwell Enterprises' underlying IP."
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Emily turned her head, looking out the window at the flashing neon signs of Manhattan blurring past in the dark.
"He didn't just forget, Sarah," Emily whispered, resting both hands over her heavy stomach where the twins rolled in protest against the motion of the car. "He stopped looking."
