chapter 4

Odessa did exactly what her husband had asked her to do.

She put on grey plaid trousers that hid her hips, tucked in a white button-down shirt, and paired them both with a vest.

She pulled her hair into a sleek bun and pushed her feet into black flats.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She did not put on any makeup. All she did was apply some lip balm so her lips would not dry out.

She looked unremarkable, like she could walk into a room and nobody would notice.

Exactly what Tristan wanted.

She flinched when the door pushed open. Tristan walked in wearing a perfectly tailored suit. He adjusted his cuffs, and his gaze turned to her.

He looked at her from head to toe several times before he gave a small nod of approval.

"Are you in good enough shape to handle it?" he asked, one eyebrow arched.

Odessa pressed her lips into a flat line. She had lied about being ill.

She nodded, and he turned away quickly. She followed behind him.

Odessa realized she had severely miscalculated her trauma when she stood in front of her car.

She felt her palms grow wet with sweat, and her fingers began to tremble.

Suddenly she was back in the driver's seat, with broken bones and pain that shot through her entire body.

She tried to pull the door open, but her hands would not move from her sides.

Tristan tilted his head, watching as she stood frozen in front of her car.

"You said you were in good shape," he hissed.

Odessa stepped back, trying to steady her breathing.

"Good enough for the meeting. I just can't drive." She looked down at her sweaty hands.

Would this change the outcome of the meeting?

She had not realized the accident would leave such a deep scar.

Would she need a driver to go anywhere? That was too risky.

Behind her, Tristan sighed.

"Don't mess this up, Odessa. This is for the future of the company."

He walked to his car, parked in front of hers, and pulled open the door. He paused and turned back to her.

Odessa did not know why she expected him to offer her a ride.

"I'll call the driver. Meet me at the office."

He lowered himself into his car and shut the door. The engine roared to life, and he was gone before Odessa could react.

She should not have been surprised. They never went anywhere together, almost as if he were embarrassed to be around her. He always kept his distance, closing it only when he needed her to say the right thing around investors and partners.

Odessa looked down at her trembling hands. She had not realized the accident would leave such a deep scar.

She could not drive.

She walked to the steps leading up to their home, her eyes fixed on her car.

She lowered herself onto the steps and waited for the driver to show up.

The drive to Vantage Tower was slow and excruciating.

Several times she asked the driver to stop so she could catch her breath.

Halfway there, her phone buzzed loudly. Tristan's name flashed across the screen. She put it on silent and focused on her breathing.

Vantage Tower was beautiful. The skyline and the perfectly placed art pieces made you lose track of time.

It was exactly what she had intended when she spent several weeks with the architects and interior designers.

She walked into the elevator, ignoring the stares from the receptionist.

She clenched her jaw when she remembered she had named it, too.

The meeting hall was on the top floor, the same as her husband's office.

The elevator doors opened, and her eyes landed on Serena, one of the few people she had personally selected.

"Mrs. Sinclair, you're late," Serena said.

Odessa stepped out of the elevator and hurried toward the meeting hall.

She paused by the door, her throat suddenly dry. She turned to face Serena, who was already walking toward her with a glass of water.

She took the glass and gulped down the entire thing.

Odessa took a deep breath and pushed the large mahogany doors open.

All eyes fell on her as she walked in. Her eyes found Tristan first. He sat at the end of the huge table, beside the screen.

He glared at her, his hands flat on the table.

She looked away.

Her eyes drifted to Silas Blackwell, sitting opposite Tristan.

He was already staring.

His gaze was steady and intense, as if he were studying her.

She bowed and mumbled a flimsy apology.

Tristan rose to his feet, laughed awkwardly, and apologized for the delay.

Silas waved his hand impatiently, signaling her to go on.

Odessa took a deep breath and turned on the slides for the Manhattan project.

She spoke carefully, her eyes fixed on Silas.

Tristan leaned back in his seat, his lips curled into a smug smile.

Halfway through, a man at the end of the table cut in.

"What happens if your biggest client pulls out?"

Tristan's smile froze. His eyes darted to the slides, then to her.

Odessa did not need to look down. She had written that section herself, night after night, while he slept.

"Nothing that sinks us," she said. "No single client is more than a fifth of the project. If one leaves, we replace them, and the rest keep paying while we do."

The man blinked, then nodded slowly.

Tristan's jaw tightened. He would have had nothing to say.

When she was done, Silas took a deep breath.

The entire room fell silent.

Odessa and Tristan watched Silas.

"Impressive, Mrs. Sinclair," he finally said.

Tristan rushed over to sit beside him.

Odessa remembered what happened next.

She left the room, and Tristan stayed with Silas to discuss further meetings concerning a contract.

Odessa turned off the slides and walked out. She could feel Silas watching her as she left.

She would sit on the bench right outside and wait.

In less than five minutes, Silas would tower above her and offer a card.

She waited patiently, counting the minutes, her fingers tapping her thighs.

Right on cue, he stepped out and paused in front of her.

She looked up at him, making sure to keep her face calm.

"Is there a policy that requires your husband's name to be on all the projects?" he asked, his voice rough and low.

Odessa frowned, her lips slightly parted.

This wasn't what he had said last time.

What had changed?

Why had he said that?

Did her showing up late have something to do with it?

She searched his eyes, trying to figure out what he would say next.