Chapter 6

Tristan wasn't home when Odessa got there. A strong wave of relief washed over her. She took off her shoes and sank into the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

The old her would have paced the entire house waiting for him. She would have called him over and over to know where he was, and eventually, she would have cried herself to sleep.

Now, she wished he would never come home.

She sat up and reached for her phone, scrolling through the long list of unread messages Tristan had left behind. Her eyes landed on the last few.

Where are you?

The meeting ended ten minutes ago.

Answer your phone, Odessa.

She was about to set the phone down when the screen lit up with his name.

She swallowed hard and tapped the screen, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Where the hell did you go?" Tristan’s voice boomed through the speaker. She pulled the phone away from her ear and took a deep breath.

"I said, where did you go?" he demanded when she didn't answer right away.

"I came home," Odessa said, her voice completely flat. If he noticed the change in her tone, he didn't care. "I told you I wasn't feeling well."

There was a heavy pause on the other end, followed by a harsh sigh of frustration.

"Blackwell wants to review the technical framework before committing. What did you do?"

Odessa's breath hitched. How had he found out so quickly? No, Tristan wasn't smart enough to know what she was planning.

"What did you do, Odessa? You promised you were strong enough to handle the proposal," Tristan barked.

She could tell he was fuming. Everything that went wrong would always be her fault. Mr. Blackwell hadn't even pulled out yet, but Tristan was already looking for a finger to point.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and exhaled. "My proposal was perfect. He's a businessman. Of course he wants to do a final review."

"Whatever," Tristan muttered, his accusatory tone swiftly switching to dismissive. "I have work to do. I'm probably going to have to sleep in the office. Don't wait up."

He ended the call before she could respond.

His voice echoed in her head. Work to do.

The lie was so obvious it was insulting. What work did he ever do? All he did was sit back and act pretty. He would never sleep in his office; Tristan loved his comfort too much. He was off to see his mistress.

In her past life, the realization would have sent her into despair. She would have broken down, wondering why she wasn't good enough for him and what she had done wrong. Now, she wanted him anywhere but next to her.

She pulled Silas’s matte, black business card from her pocket. As she read the details, her jaw dropped. He had given her his personal card.

Maybe she should reach out and thank him for giving her an opportunity.

She pushed the thought away and slipped the card back into her pocket. Too soon. She didn't want to look desperate.

She leaned her head against the back of the couch. The sudden silence of the house was deafening, almost enough to make her hear her own heart beating. But it wasn't painful anymore. It was a window of opportunity.

She stood up and walked up the stairs to the master bedroom they shared. Staying in that room felt like torture. She pulled out her clothes, personal toiletries, and private laptop, moving them across the hall to the guest room.

If Tristan asked, and she was certain he would; she would use her illness as an excuse and say she didn't want to disturb him.

Sitting on the edge of the guest bed, Odessa opened her private laptop. She rarely used it, and it was mostly there as a backup, but she needed it now. She opened new accounts that weren't connected to Vantage the way her work laptop was, ensuring she could conduct her personal business without getting caught.

Next, she opened a clean document and typed out every investment and business line they had running. She highlighted the ones Tristan couldn't possibly manage without her.

Looking at the list, she realized she couldn't bring herself to destroy it. She had been so blinded by revenge that she had forgotten Vantage belonged to her. She had built it with her own hands. Silas was right: she couldn't let Tristan keep it. She would take her rightful place as the owner and force him out.

She closed the laptop, laid her head on the cool pillow, and looked up at the ceiling. She had survived day one. She had Silas Blackwell's support, and in a few days, she would be working with him. Her eyes slowly drifted shut.

Tristan was back early the next morning, still wearing the suit from the day before. She forced a smile and asked how he was, but he only mumbled an answer as he walked past her.

Once again, she caught a whiff of the same perfume she had smelled before.

He paused and asked why her things were no longer in the master bedroom. She feigned tiredness and pain, explaining that she didn't want him catching whatever she had, making sure to cough softly between words.

Tristan eyed her critically and told her to see a doctor.

Over the weekend, she played the dutiful wife. It was excruciating. She prepared his meals, did the laundry, and cleaned the house. When he reached for her, she coughed violently until he pulled back, staring down at her in disgust.

"Why don't you continue sleeping in the guest room until that clears up?" he suggested.

Odessa bowed her head to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

He turned away and locked himself in the master bedroom. Odessa returned to her room, too excited to sleep.

She was going to learn everything she could from Silas Blackwell. He had been in the industry much longer than she had, and most importantly, he had front row seats for Tristan Sinclair's downfall.