Chapter 10 #2
My mind instantly began to spiral, mapping backward through the past twelve months with a frantic, terrifying velocity that I could not halt.
Every single piece of the agonizing puzzle slotted into place with a clinical, horrifying precision that made my stomach turn with violent nausea.
I remembered the lonely night in October when he had stood at the glass window of our penthouse for hours, staring out at the rain-slicked shipping lanes, entirely silent when I asked him if he wanted to share his stress.
He had told me his mind was trapped in the concrete calculations for the foundation, but now I knew he was calculating how to divide his life between two different realities.
I recalled the sudden, unexplained cancellation of our anniversary dinner because an investor’s representative had allegedly demanded an impromptu site walkthrough on Elliott Bay.
Most of all, I remembered the faint, suffocating scent of that specific powdery floral perfume that had lingered on his coats when he returned home past midnight, a scent I had repeatedly, desperately rationalized as the remnant of standard corporate boardrooms.
It hadn’t been corporate. It had been intimate.
It had been an active, systemic deception executed by the one man I had trusted with my entire existence.
The certainty hardened inside my chest like iron, a cold, unyielding weight that suddenly burned through my sorrow, transforming my heartbreak into a blinding, white-hot fury.
“Thank you for the documentation, Cynthia,” I said. My voice was suddenly entirely steady, stripped of all tears, carrying a lethal, quiet frequency that caused her arrogant smirk to falter for the very first time.
I did not wait for her to reply, and I did not give her the satisfaction of watching me break down in the wings.
I turned my back on her, dropping the onyx folder into the large industrial waste bin by the loading dock door, and marched down the narrow corridor toward the alleyway exit.
I threw open the thick metal stage door, stepping out into the late afternoon twilight without a coat, completely oblivious to the freezing drizzle that struck my bare face and soaked into my flannel shirt.
The drive across the city was a blur of pure, unadulterated adrenaline and incandescent rage.
I tore down the rain-slicked highway toward the downtown financial district, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather wrapping groaned under the pressure of my knuckles.
The evening traffic on the avenue was a congested nightmare of red brake lights, splashing tires, and industrial soot, but I navigated the lanes with a reckless, fiery desperation, cutting through the perimeters of the glass towers until I pulled the sedan into the underground executive garage of corporate headquarters.
Then it was up the private elevator to the executive level.
“Mrs. Klein, wait, please, you don’t have an appointment,” the executive secretary stammered, rising from her minimalist desk with her hands raised in a futile, defensive gesture as I blew past her station. “He’s in a closed review session before a meeting with the legal department?—“
I ignored her completely, my boots striking the dark granite floorboards with a loud, echoing thud that sounded like a countdown to an execution.
I reached the massive oak double doors of Malcolm’s private suite, grabbed the solid brass handles, and slammed them open with a violent, concussive force that sent them crashing against the interior drywall.
The sound shattered the quiet of the office like an explosion.
Malcolm was standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, his massive frame silhouetted against the stormy dark sky of the bay.
His white linen shirt was still wrinkled, his jaw dark with overnight stubble, and a glass of amber liquid shook slightly in his right hand.
He was entirely blindsided, his gray eyes widening in pure, startled confusion as he watched his wife storm into his sanctuary like a living tempest, her hair damp from the storm and her chest heaving with rage.
“Paige?” he breathed, his voice gravelly, tentative, and broken as he set the crystal glass down onto the marble desk with a trembling hand. “What is happening? How did you get in here?”
“Shut up, Malcolm,” I hissed, the words vibrating with a raw, savage intensity that caused him to freeze instantly in place.
I stepped deep into his personal space, crossing the vast granite floor until I was standing directly across from his drafting table, the fiery rage inside my chest completely consuming the sterile, analytical atmosphere of his room.
“Don’t you dare use that calm, clinical tone with me.
Don’t you dare generate another single syllable of your engineering logic to explain away the absolute rot at the center of this tower. ”
“Paige, please, just listen to me for one second,” he stammered, taking a slow, hesitant step forward, his large hands reaching out in a desperate, unfinished gesture to hold me, to anchor my flaring body against his chest. “I threw her out of this studio last night, and I permanently revoked her biometric access so she can never step foot in this tower again. She is completely removed from the firm’s pipeline, I swear to you on my life. There is nothing between us...”