LOGINYou could say that I had two wake up calls that day, but the true depth of their meaning would become clear later, when I got home to check my email.
There were two new messages at the top of my inbox. The first was from Dr. Ryland Winchester and the HR department of Haven Medical Group.
The second one was from the camera I had installed in the car.
My heart skipped. Good news, bad news–which one do I open first?
Exhaling, I chose to look at the offer letter.
It was a generous offer–far more generous than I was expecting. If I took the position, not only would I get an opportunity to work on a fully-funded research team among some of the country’s physicians, including my old mentor Professor Winchester, I would be paid handsomely for my services–three times what I’d make here in NYC for any of the local hospitals.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A reset button on the last three years.
It would be like I never gave up my future to support Misha with his.
Even as I stared at the offer, I couldn’t bring myself to feel the excitement I knew I should.
Part of me wanted to believe I was still capable of this—of stepping back into a world I had walked away from years ago. But another part whispered all the reasons I shouldn’t. I had been out of academia for too long. I was rusty. Behind. Out of place.
Saying yes felt reckless.
And then there was reality. Misha would never give up his career to follow me, and his life was firmly rooted in New York, tied to Carter Tech. California felt impossibly far away—less like a destination and more like a fantasy.
I didn’t know if I could truly separate from Misha. My mind was in complete chaos…
“I’ll write him back tomorrow,” I promised myself as I filed the message away to deal with later. “Tell him I can’t do it. That would be the professional thing to do.”
Sighing, I looked back at my email. The other unopened message was waiting. With a nervous click, I opened it to find hours of footage along with summaries and GPS data of locations and times.
As I scrolled, I noticed a pattern.
Misha visited the same residential complex over and over again on multiple days, always at the same time in the morning, and then later at night. My chest tightened as I compared the night drop off dates to the last week of “late nights” at the office.
They were a perfect match.
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” I said more for myself than for his sake. “It doesn’t mean anything. He could be meeting a client.”
But even as I said this, my heart knew I was fooling myself.
I slept poorly that night, not just because Misha didn’t return until after midnight, but also because my mind couldn’t let go of the events of the day. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see the pretty blonde smiling up at my husband like he was her everything, and my stomach clenched with anxiety and disgust.
And yet, the next morning, I woke up an hour earlier than normal, left a note saying I was “going for a run” and took my car to the other side of the town–not to the gym, but to the address displayed in the tracking app.
Parking across the street in a narrow alley, I looked down at my watch and waited.
And at 7:45 exactly a very familiar car pulled into the parking garage. A moment later, it drove out again, and following at a discrete distance, I tailed him all the way back to Carter Tech.
Parking just a few cars away, I watched Misha, clean-shaven and smiling, open the passenger side door. Extending his hand, he offered a dainty young woman help as she climbed out of the car in very high heels.
It was the same girl from the coffee shop.
As my husband leaned down to pick up a lunchbag, my heart stopped. I recognized that bag–it was the same one he used to pack for me when we were dating and I was working late nights during my residency.
He made her lunch in my lunchbag. A lunch he used to make for me.
The girl took it graciously, and standing on tip-toe, placed a small, grateful kiss on his cheek.
My blood ran cold as my heart froze to ice.
Watching them walk side by side towards the elevator, I couldn’t stop my feet from following. Taking the next lift up, I pretended to check my phone as I walked out into the reception area, my eyes hidden behind oversized sunglasses.
“Well look at that,” one of the receptionists gossiped under her breath as the two women watched my husband enter the main office, his hand on the small of the blonde woman’s back. “That new secretary, Mavis, sure moves fast, doesn’t she?”
Ah, so that’s Mavis.
“Mr. Carter does seem to dote on her,” the other receptionist replied. “She’s only been here a couple of months, but they’re practically inseparable. I wonder what she did to earn that extra attention.”
The two women giggle under their breath.
I don’t need to hear any more to know what they were implying–even the receptionists think he’s sleeping with her.
My stomach feeling sour, I turned away and headed back to my car.
Three years. I have given this man three years of my life.
Now, I need to fight back. I won’t let the sacrifices I made for this family go to waste.
As I thought about it, a plan began to form in my mind.
Taking a step back I blink at her in confusion. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”Patiently the receptionist repeated her words elaborating that not only was the bill paid in full for the amount due, but for an entire year going forward. That’s 6 million dollars total. Who would pay the bill like this? I’m not even sure that Misha could pay for a bill of this size all at once without alerting his family. Yes, Misha ran Carter Group as its CEO, but his mother now holds his father’s seat as CFO. There is no way she wouldn’t notice a receipt for a bill of that size. Weekly payments of $150,000 to a private account would look like a corporate lunch receipt to people like them, and while they had no shortage of cash, there’s no way she’d miss a single charge of 6 million dollars. Unless, Misha lied this whole time about NOT telling his mother. Frowning, I ask the receptionist to print a full statement for all payments made on my mother’s behalf. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carter, but there is
“There’s nothing going on,” I lied again, not wanting her to pity me. “I mean, I am having money troubles, but you already helped enough. Thank you again for helping me with the lawyer.” She brushed off the complement as if it were nothing, even though it was a real lifesaver. I’d have never had a chance of even scheduling an appointment with Stephanie Quinn, but she not only made it happen, she paid her retainer. She’s already paid tens of thousands of dollars to help me. It doesn’t seem right for her to help me again. I tell her as much but Allison rolls her eyes and snorts. “Seriously, Ari, that was nothing. Now tell me the truth,” she demanded, her tone gentle but her fist clenched as if she was imagining punching my husband in the face as she asked, “Is Misha threatening you?” Something must have shown in my eyes, because she persisted, asking me more questions to test me. “Spill, Ari. Is it your mother?” Bullseye. “Ah, so he’s threatening you with your mother,” she tak
When I woke up, my best friend was seated next to me in a sterile room filled with late afternoon sunlight from a nearby window. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up slowly, catching Allison’s attention. “Oh thank god! You scared the shit out of me, Ariana McKenna. Never do that to me again!” She scolded, her eyes filled with concern as she leaned over to squeeze my hand. “How are you feeling?” “Dizzy,” I answered truthfully. “Sore.” And then I remembered something. “My baby!” “Is fine,” A stern-faced doctor said from the doorway, making me flinch. “But only because you’re really lucky, Miss McKenna.” I almost corrected her, saying my name is Mrs. Carter, but that reminded me that Misha might hear about this if they thought there was a husband to contact. I can’t have them doing that. He can’t know about this baby. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with very short hair, introduced herself as Dr. Stavos as she walked deeper into the room. Flipping open her clipboard, she looked over my t
We walked down a long corridor and were taken into a room lined with high-end designer rifles that easily cost as much as my annual salary. “Ally, I don’t need a gun,” I insisted as she pointed to a smaller rifle from a nearby rack for the shopkeeper to bring into the room along with the massive one Ally is planning for herself. “I’ve never even fired one.” “That’s why we’re at the range, silly,” Allison shook her head as if the answer was obvious. “Because if I have to go to this stupid family function, I’ve decided I’m bringing my best friend along.” “When did you decide this?” I scoffed, frowning at her.“About 5 minutes ago,” she grinned devilishly at my grumpy expression. “Besides I need a buffer between me and my jerk brother,” her expression darkened as she added, “He’s bringing her.”Allison’s lip curls with distaste. Apparently she doesn’t like whoever this “her” is, and for someone like Allison, once she doesn’t like someone, it’s for life. Thankfully, the same is true ab
Watching Allison drive like a maniac through the New York City streets rushing towards a gun shop, I realized my best friend may have finally lost her mind. And all she had to see was the state of me–my torn clothing, my tear streaked face–I hadn’t even told her a single thing yet about what had happened beyond conveying that I had had a terrible morning. And now she wants to take me to a gun shop? It felt like a bit of an overreaction.I tell her as much as we make another hard right towards an exit taking us out of Manhattan towards the highway. “I need a divorce and a new co-worker, not a gun.”“I beg to differ,” she raised her eyebrow at me as she swerved, making a few people honk as she cut them off. “But the gun isn’t for you, silly goose, it’s for me.”My mouth dropped. Why on earth would my friend need a gun?“So tell me about your day,” her voice was almost cheerful as she changed the subject back to me. “What happened, Ari? You look like you walked head first into a cyclon
I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. I just kept marching forward, shoving my phone into the pocket of my borrowed coat. His coat. Damn it, that’s right, I still have his coat. Groaning, I realized I couldn’t go home like this. If I’m supposed to be playing nice with Misha in order to get more information on him, I can’t show up in another man’s coat. It won’t matter that I have ZERO interest in a man like Dr. Clark, my husband might get the wrong idea. And that’s the last thing I need. Not just because he and I do not get along, but because I can’t even fathom the idea of starting a relationship with someone new. As much as it would feel like poetic justice to give Misha a taste of his own medicine, even if Dr. Clark was a real option, I wouldn’t pursue it. He’s…not my type. And even if he were, I’m not that type of person to pursue a romantic interest when I’m still technically in a relationship with someone else. Not to mention the baby I’m still trying to hide. What would I do i







