CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JULIA
I EASED ETHAN’S SLEEK sedan to the curb outside Meg’s building, the tires whispering against the concrete as I clicked the shifter into park. The engine’s low purr decrescendos, leaving me wrapped in the scent of warmed leather and a faint trace of my husband’s cologne.
There was a sort of disconnect between us lately, one soft words and apologies couldn’t bridge. I was disappointed more than anything else.
That hadn’t stopped me from insisted on swapping vehicles.
My hulking SUV would’ve been an exercise in frustration wedged between a gleaming Bentley and a polished Tesla—two beasts of metal that seemed to sneer at any car daring to intrude.
Ethan’s car, by contrast, glided into place like molten silk through fingertips.
Look at that, I thought, pride fluttering in my chest as I check the black rims—still immaculate.
I could have gotten a sedan for myself, but I was not surrendering my truck anytime soon.
In Big Ange with my seat lifted so that I could see, I was a giant; five-foot-four perched like a queen.
Down here, I felt every inch my true height.
For a long moment I remained behind the wheel, absorbing the spectacle of Meg’s high-rise. Sheer glass and steel soaked up Miami’s midmorning glare, throwing harsh reflections onto the sidewalk. I glanced at the clock on the dash: 10:03.
Around me, the available curbside slots were already claimed.
Carmen’s sporty coupe—its crimson paint like a flare—sat a few spaces down.
Toya’s matte-black Range Rover stood guard closer to the entrance.
They were here, waiting. Which meant I’d officially run out of excuses to stay in Ethan’s car and stare at the dashboard.
I leaned forward, tugging on my auburn hair to smooth a stray strand, and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Hazel eyes watched back: weary but steel-bright. Lip gloss still gleamed across my lips; my silk blouse was unwrinkled.
To anyone glancing my way, I looked flawless—composed, put-together, like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
Inside, though? My brain had been turned into last-night’s junk drawer: Dominic Cortez. Lila. The firm. The kiss. And Ethan, especially Ethan—
I took one more look, and drew in a steadying breath. “Showtime,” I murmured.
I grabbed my bag, swung the door open, and stepped onto the pavement. The Florida sun hit me like a physical force, heat shimmering off the sidewalk. My heels clicked in a staccato rhythm as I crossed the few feet to the glass-and-steel entrance.
Meg buzzed me in before I even raised a hand to wave at the security camera. “Come on up,” her voice crackled through the intercom.
Inside, the lobby is exactly how I remembered it: polished marble floors that reflected the recessed lights, chrome fixtures gleaming with antiseptic perfection. It felt staged—like the backdrop of some luxury-property commercial.
I strode to the elevator, pressed the button for the tenth floor, and the doors slid shut with a soft whoosh around me. The hum of the ascent vibrated through my shoes. When the doors opened on Meg’s floor, I stepped into a quiet hallway lined with plush carpeting.
Soft light filtered from sconces in the walls.
Her door stood ajar, as if she’d been holding it open for me. I slipped inside and heard the lock click behind me—an old habit; Mama always said an unlocked door was an open invitation to robbery, violence, or worse.
I kicked off my heels by the mat, the leather of my shoes warm from the walk.
Voices echoed from the living room. “Look who finally made it,” Carmen chirped.
Toya’s sharper, more direct. “You look pretty. Drink?”
I stepped forward and settled onto the sectional. The upholstery was soft, almost cloudlike beneath me.
“Water,” I replied.
Toya arched an eyebrow. “It’s ten in the morning.”
I grinned. “And?”
Meg brushed a curl away from her face, gesturing toward the kitchen island. Stainless steel surfaces gleamed. “You know where everything is.”
I wandered over, grabbed a cold Fiji from the fridge—condensation droplets clinging to the bottle, cool to the touch—and carried it back.
Carmen and Toya were already perched on the couch; the afternoon light streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Have I missed anything?” I asked, sliding in beside Toya.
Toya crosses her legs beneath her, blue suede slipping against the cushion. “Nope. We’ve mostly been waiting for you.”
Wonderful, I thought, sinking into the plush depths of the sofa. Carmen gave me a sympathetic smile. Meg tilted her head. I glanced at all three—Carmen’s soft concern, Toya’s impatient curiosity, Meg’s gently arched brow.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I sighed. “Just ask.”
Toya didn’t hesitate. “How are you?”
I twisted the cap off my water, listened to the plastic threads unwind. “Alive.”
“Julia.”
I lowered my gaze to the bottle. The label’s crisp green and white print shimmering in the light. “I’m... feeling.”
Carmen’s eyes went wide, then narrowed in mock horror. “Not feelings.”
“Shut up,” I shot back softly.
Toya bumped my knee. “Vague doesn’t work with us, Juju.”
She was right, as always. I closed my eyes for a second, remembering the café yesterday: the hum of conversation, the clink of cups, the way I’d told them every detail—including the part I wished I could un-know.
Ethan kissed her back. Even if it was only for a second, those sixty seconds were burned like a little brand on my mind.
Eleven years of marriage could make a sixty-second betrayal stretch out like an eternity.
Meg had told me she’d driven past Cortez’s old lawyers’ office, and its facade was now scrubbed clean, windows boarded or replaced, and the interior gutted and repurposed into an antiseptic insurance branch.
No sign of the files or furniture that once held the practice. Another dead end that left more questions spinning in my mind. How long had his previous legal operation collapsed? Why wait until now to rebuild? And why choose Ethan—why my husband—to be the next defender in his shadowy lineup?
Miami wasn’t short on lawyers eager to bend the rules; why Ethan? Those questions haunted me into the night. And so did another: Why had Ethan kissed her back?
I knew neither of us had an answer.
“I keep replaying it,” I admitted into the heavy silence. The three of them, my closest friends, sat around me on mismatched armchairs—Toya’s legs tucked beneath her, Carmen with one ankle perched on her knee, Meg leaning forward on the edge of her seat.
Toya was the first to break the quiet. “Which part?”
I curled one leg underneath me and stared at the scratched wooden floor. “The whole thing,” I said. “He didn’t go looking for her. He didn’t even know she was there, but he kissed her back.”
Carmen’s head bobbed slowly, her dark red hair brushing her collarbone. “Yeah,” she agreed.
“ I don’t know where I’m supposed to put that.”
“Nowhere yet,” Meg said softly. “You don’t have to decide what it means forty-eight hours after it happened.”
Her words settled like gravel shifting underfoot, enough to hold me, if only briefly.
Toya leaned forward, the leather of her chair creaking. “And don’t start defending Ethan so hard that you don’t leave any room to be pissed at him.”
“I’m not,” I shot back, and saw all three faces tighten in protest. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Carmen snorted into her glass.
“I told him not to be alone with her,” I continued, voice trembling with renewed anger.
“That’s what’s driving me crazy. I wasn’t telling my husband not to cheat—I’ve never had to do that.
I was warning him she was pushing boundaries.
Cortez had dropped her name into this shitstorm, and I didn’t trust her. ”
My knuckles whitened around the Fiji bottle.
“Ethan is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. He can spot a lie in a witness’s left nut, but apparently he couldn’t see that wandering into Lila Marino’s office at two in the morning was a bad idea when she wasn’t emotionally stable.”
Toya’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Left nut?”
I glared at her. “You get my point.”
“Absolutely,” she said, nodding.
I exhaled, letting my shoulders drop. “He should’ve kept walking.”
“Yes,” Meg agreed, eyes soft. “He knows that.”
Toya reached out, placing her hand gently on my knee. “You can hold both things, Juju.”
I peeled my palm off my eyes. “What?”
“You can believe he loves you and still be hurt,” she said, her voice steady. “You can believe those few seconds don’t define your entire marriage and still make him answer for them.”
She squeezed my knee. “And you can trust him without pretending he didn’t fuck up.”
I did trust my husband.
I was also furious.
Those truths didn’t cancel each other out.
“I don’t think he wants her,” I said quietly.
“Neither do I,” Meg chimed in.
Carmen shrugged. “Nothing you’ve told us sounds like a man starting an affair, but he needs to figure out why he responded that way.”
There it was—the question I’d laid at Ethan’s feet. “That’s what I told him.”
“Until he does,” Carmen continued firmly, “don’t answer it for him. Don’t chalk it up to exhaustion because that’s easier. Don’t call it attraction because that’s scarier. Don’t pin it on curiosity or stress or ego. Make him sit with that shit.”
I nodded, the hard edge of resolve forming inside me. Toya leaned back. “And for the record, I’m still willing to beat her ass.”
“Toya,” I said, half-laughing.
“What? I’m offering appropriate emotional support.”
“Felony support,” Carmen teases
.
“I’m multifaceted,” Toya shrugged, and we all laughed, the tight knot in my chest loosening just a bit.
Later, when the laughter had died away, I found myself whispering, “You know what keeps fucking with me?”
“What?” Meg asked.
“Elena.” The name slipped out. “I keep turning over that conversation we had, wondering if I somehow...” I stopped.
Toya shook her head. “No.”
“But you don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do. And it’s stupid as fuck.”
Meg smacked her arm. “Toya!”
“I was going to say I manifested it,” I finished.
“You didn’t manifest your husband making a poor choice. You had anxiety because something was already wrong. Lila was already behaving too familiar. Cortez was already weaving his web even if you weren’t sure of all the strands.
She reached toward me, palm up. “You noticed smoke before the fire. You didn’t start it.”
Her words were a salve to my frayed nerves. Acknowledging the possibility of disaster didn’t mean I’d conjured it, just that I’d seen the cracks first.
Meg swiped at her iPad. “So—what are we doing about Cortez?”
The question snapped me back to the present crisis. I closed my eyes. “I still don’t think you guys should be involved.”
All three women stared.
Carmen crossed one leg over the other. “We’re already involved. Damian is involved. Knox is involved. Ethan is involved. Serena is involved. You’re not sticking us back on a shelf because it’s dangerous.”
“I don’t have any ‘decorative-wife storage.’”
“You know what I mean.” They all did. And truthfully, I needed them—my fierce, loyal circle. Not to punish Lila, or to sabotage Ethan’s case, and definitely not to pry into things that could get any of us killed. But I needed eyes on the things Ethan couldn’t see, and my husband seemed to
“I want to separate Lila from Cortez in our heads,” I said.
Meg lifted an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“We don’t know she’s complicit in whatever he’s doing.”
Carmen nodded thoughtfully. “Fair.”
“She could be,” Toya pointed out.
“But until we have proof, she isn’t automatically his accomplice just because he’s her father.”
Toya puckered her lips. “Very mature.”
“I hate it too.”
Laughter rippled through us again.
“Here’s what we do know: Cortez deliberately implicated her, and he specifically wants her in this game.”
“Exactly,” Carmen said, tapping the table. “That means something. Maybe she’s useful. Maybe he’s controlling her. Maybe he’s using her to get to Ethan. Or maybe he’s just fucking with everyone.”
“Or she knows more than she’s saying,” Meg added.
My Tato had taught me you gathered every piece of information you could, then you decided what it meant.
"So we keep digging,” Meg said, on the same page as me. “Quietly,”
"And nobody does anything reckless."
Toya looked offended. "Why did you look directly at me?"
“Because you’d be the number one contender to do so.”
I sat back. The plan forming in my head wasn't revenge. Not yet, anyway. It was information. I wanted to know why Dominic Cortez had chosen my husband and why he'd dragged Lila into it. And yes, I wanted to know more about Lila.
Not because she’d kissed Ethan, that was a personal wound, raw and private, that I would tend to alone in the dark hours when the house was quiet. I wanted to know who she was because Dominic Cortez had deliberately placed her on the board, a piece moved into position against my husband.
Those were different investigations. One of the heart, one of survival—and they needed to stay separate, like fire and gasoline.
As for my marriage? That stayed between Ethan and me, in the space where his shirts still hung beside mine in the closet, where his toothbrush stood damp in the holder. I wasn’t going to monitor him like a prisoner, checking his phone for unfamiliar numbers or tracing his routes through the city.
I wasn’t going to interrogate every late night or press my face into the collar of his dress shirts searching for traces of another woman’s perfume to be sure I wasn’t imagining things if I ever smelled it clinging to him. If things ever got to that point, this marriage was already over.
He’d fucked up. Badly. The memory of his confession still sat like a weight in my stomach, but one bad decision wasn’t eleven years of marriage—yet.
What came next mattered more than what had already passed.
Maybe trusting Ethan made me brave. Maybe it made me stupid—the kind that believes in second chances or the benefit of doubt even when every instinct screams to build higher walls.
Time would decide and in the meantime, trust didn’t require blindness.
Neither would I. I could love my husband, trust my husband, stand beside my husband in our kitchen at midnight, and still make sure that if the ground ever disappeared beneath my feet, because of his choices, that I already knew where I was going to land.