002

Chapter Two

Addie’s POV

"Why confront them right now when all they're going to do is lie straight to our faces?" Sebastian continued in a terrifyingly calm manner. "If they have the audacity to sneak around behind our backs, then we can do the exact same thing."

I just stared at him, my mouth slightly open, my head pounding with a throbbing ache.

"Except we won't hide in cheap hotel rooms," he said, leaning in so close I could smell the bite of bourbon on his breath. "We'll make it so painfully obvious right in front of their eyes. We'll show up to the same dinners, share the same glances, leave the same traces. They'll suspect every single move we make, but because of their own filthy secrets, they won't dare open their mouths to ask us about it."

He tapped a single finger against the table, looking at me like a chess player about to take a queen.

"I want to put them against the fence, Addie. I want to squeeze them until they panic, turn on each other, and see just how bad this fire can burn. And I want you right beside me when it happens."

A dry sound broke from my throat.

Then another.

Before I could stop myself, I started laughing.

I laughed until my ribs hurt, until my chest caved in, until hot, furious tears finally spilled over my eyelashes and streaked down my cold cheeks.

"Be your mistress?" I choked out between ragged breaths, wiping my face with the back of my trembling hand. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sebastian? What kind of sick fantasy are you living in?"

Sebastian’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening, but he didn't interrupt.

"Did you honestly sit in your penthouse, plan this meeting, and convince yourself that you could drop a bomb about my husband's infidelity, propose that I sleep with my sister's husband to get even, and expect me to just smile and say yes?" My voice cracked with disgust. "This entire thing is incredulously stupid!"

"It's leverage, Addie," he said, reaching out across the table. "It's justice."

"No, it's garbage," I spat, yanking my arm back before his fingers could graze my skin. "I'm not doing it. I am not turning myself into a monster just to hurt the people who hurt me."

"Addie, listen to me—"

"Don't touch me!"

I grabbed my purse from the seat, pushed past the table, and bolted toward the restaurant exit before he could stand up.

I burst through the glass doors into the chilly night air, not waiting for the valet to fetch my car. I flagged down the first yellow cab that rolled down the avenue, tumbled into the back seat, and buried my face in both of my shaking hands.

As the city lights blurred through the rain-streaked window, my mind spun backward, ripping open old wounds I thought had healed.

My relationship with Darcia had been fractured for years. Ever since an ugly high school falling out—where she had deliberately turned our entire circle of friends against me over a petty rumor—we had barely spoken.

She hated me so deeply she didn't even bother showing up to my wedding two years ago. For months, I had cried myself to sleep, mourning the sister I had lost.

Preston had seen how badly the estrangement was tearing me apart.

“Life is too short to hold onto childhood grudges, baby,” Preston had told me gently one evening, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Let me arrange a dinner. The four of us. Two sisters and their husbands. We'll sit down, talk it through, and put the past behind you.”

I thought he was being my hero.

The meetup happened at a private lounge downtown. To my immense relief, it worked. The ice thawed, Darcia hugged me, and the rift seemed to vanish overnight.

Right after that dinner, Darcia had suddenly started visiting our apartment every single week.

I had been overjoyed. I thought my sister was finally coming back to me.

God, how blind was I?

Now that the blindfold had been ripped off, every single memory played back like a sickening horror film.

Darcia hadn't been visiting me. She had been coming for my husband the entire time.

She had pouted on our balcony, whining that Sebastian never had time for her, begging Preston to come over to their estate pool to teach her how to swim properly.

She had called Preston during his lunch breaks, dragging him across the city to carry her luxury shopping bags because Sebastian was 'too busy in board meetings.'

And every single time, I had just laughed it off. I had patted her head and smiled, thinking she was just being the spoiled, clingy younger sister she had always been.

She wasn't being clingy, I thought, bile rising in my throat as the cab screeched to a halt outside my apartment building. She was claiming him right in front of my face.

I paid the driver with trembling hands, rode the elevator up to the eighth floor, and stepped into my hallway.

Stop it, I ordered myself, pressing a hand to my pounding forehead. Stop spiraling. Sebastian could be lying. He's bitter, he's sick in the head. You need to ignore whatever nonsense you heard and hold on to Preston before you tear your life apart.

I unlocked the front door and pushed it open.

The soft sound coming from the television echoed from the living room, and the warm smell of brewing coffee drifted from the kitchen.

Preston was standing by the entryway console, loosening his tie, looking like he had only walked through the door a few minutes before me.

"Hey, Addie," he said, glancing over his shoulder with a tired, casual smile. "Where were you? I thought you'd be home by seven."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a desperate, pathetic plea rising in my chest. Please, let this be a nightmare. Please let him be innocent.

I walked over slowly, my heels clicking against the floor. "Traffic was terrible."

I stopped right in front of him, leaning up on my toes to press a kiss to his lips—to feel the familiar warmth that had grounded me for years.

Preston flinched.

He dodged the kiss smoothly, pulling back half an inch and pressing a quick peck to my right temple instead.

"I'm exhausted, babe," he muttered, turning his back to me to hang his coat on the rack. "Long day at the firm."

I nodded, the breath catching painfully in my throat, but I didn't say a word.

My eyes dropped to his crisp white collar.

Right along the left edge of the material was a smudged streak of deep, shimmering plum lipstick.

The world went dead silent.

"Whose lipstick is on your collar, Preston?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.

Preston froze for a fraction of a second before glancing down at his neck, waving his hand with a dismissive, easy chuckle that made my skin crawl.

"Oh, that?" he scoffed, unbuttoning his top collar button with nonchalance. "I was out for drinks with the litigation team after court. Cordelia had way too many martinis, tripped over the barstool, and practically collapsed all over my shoulder. You know how much of a terrible drinker she is, right?"

He gave me that boyish, reassuring smile that used to make me melt.

Oh, I knew Cordelia. I knew she was a messy drinker.

And I might have actually believed the lie—I might have swallowed the excuse, laughed it off, and spent the night rubbing the stain out with laundry detergent—if it weren't for one tiny, devastating detail.

The shade was Blackberry Velvet. A limited-edition, custom French lip lacquer.

The exact same lipstick I had bought as a random I-thought-of-you gift for Darcia just two weeks ago.