Chapter 5

THE PERFECT STORM

~CLAIRE'S POV~

The satisfaction of walking out of Richard's office lasted exactly one week.

One week of toast and avocado for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. One week of messy hair and wrinkled t-shirts because there was no one coming home to judge me.

One week of freedom that felt more like drowning.

I stared at my laptop screen, Calvin's email about the alimony settlement glowing mockingly. The numbers were decent—enough to survive, not enough to be successful.

Certainly not enough for the kind of revenge that would make Richard regret every cruel word.

My finger hovered over Monica's I*******m profile. ‘Don't do it, Claire.’

But I clicked anyway.

Her latest post made my stomach clench. A close-up of her left hand, diamond ring catching the light like a star.

"My prince gave me the moon and stars," the caption read, followed by a string of heart emojis.

The comments were worse. "Modern-day Cinderella!"

"So lucky to find true love!"

"Goals AF!"

‘More like modern-day whore who steals her friend's husband and fucks him behind her back.’

I was halfway through typing when my coffee mug slipped. My elbow knocked the laptop, and the cursor hit send.

"Shit, shit, shit….."

I scrambled to delete it, but the damage was done. Within seconds, responses flooded in.

"Who is this psycho?"

"Jealous much?"

But then something unexpected happened. Other comments started appearing.

"Actually, she's not wrong. Monica Sterling is a homewrecker. She tried to steal my husband too."

"Girl, Monica went after my boyfriend in college. She's a serial cheater."

"Monica Sterling from Hartwell Publishing? She's been sleeping with married clients for years."

My hands shook as I read story after story. Monica was not just a cheater—she was a predator. A woman who systematically targeted other women's relationships like a sport.

I slammed the laptop shut, bile rising in my throat.

All those years of friendship, all those times she had comforted me about Richard working late, all those shoulder rubs and encouraging words—she had been hunting him from the beginning.

Eleanor's invitation sat on my counter like a lifeline. Cream paper, elegant script. ‘A small gathering. Richard and Monica won't be there, darling.’

Party meant rich people. Rich people meant opportunity.

I fingered the envelope, my mind racing. My alimony would not fund the kind of revenge I needed. But wealthy men with guilty consciences?

That was different.

‘Not like I'm expecting sympathy,’ I thought bitterly. ‘Rich men are all cheaters anyway.’

But maybe that was exactly what I needed.

The black dress Richard had once called "prostitute attire" fit like a second skin. In the mirror, I looked like a different woman.

My bob fell in sleek waves just above my shoulders, and for the first time in years, I left the small mole at the corner of my eyebrow uncovered.

"It's distracting," Richard had always said.

Tonight, I wanted to be distracting.

I grabbed my silver purse and headed for the door. It was time to hunt.

*******************************

Eleanor's penthouse was everything I had expected….crystal chandeliers, champagne that cost more than most people rent, and men who looked at me like I was on the menu.

"Recently divorced?" The third man in an hour leaned too close, whiskey heavy on his breath. "I have a penthouse in Tribeca. Very... private."

"How romantic," I said flatly, stepping away.

Three glasses of champagne and two shots later, my grand plan was falling apart.

Every conversation ended the same way—men wanting to know my marital status, not listening to anything I actually said.

When a nervous-looking man approached me, I snapped.

"Let me guess…..you want to know if I'm single so you can offer me your penthouse too?"

His face went red. "I... I just wanted to say I liked your dress."

The entire room turned to stare. I had caused a scene.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, embarrassed. "I didn't mean…."

But he was already walking away, shaking his head.

I fled to the bathroom, my heels clicking against marble as I practically ran down the hallway. Inside, I locked myself in a stall and sat on the toilet seat, head in my hands.

‘This is pathetic. You're pathetic.’

I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry. My makeup had taken an hour…..I was not about to ruin it now.

The door opened. Two women entered, their voices carrying over the sound of running water.

"Did you see him? He is actually here."

My ears perked up.

"The billionaire? Sarah said he's incredible in bed."

"New money, but who cares? He saved three companies from bankruptcy last month."

I pressed closer to the stall door, holding my breath.

"Complete womanizer though. Different woman every week."

"As long as he's generous with his spending, I don't mind sharing."

They giggled, and I felt something electric run through me. A wealthy man with a reputation for quick meetings and generous spending?

This was exactly what I needed.

"He's probably on the terrace," one of them said. "God, I hope he notices me tonight."

The door closed behind them. I waited thirty seconds, then burst out of the stall.

I had to find them. I had to get a name.

I caught them in the hallway, stepping directly into their path. They screamed, clutching their pearls.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "but the man you were talking about….could you tell me his name?"

They looked me up and down, taking in my desperate expression and slightly chaotic appearance.

"Another gold digger," one whispered to the other.

"Alexander Hayes," the brunette said with a smirk. "Good luck, honey. Half the women here are hunting him tonight."

"Can you believe her," the other one muttered as they walked away.

I stared at my reflection in the hallway mirror. The word should have stung, but instead, it hardened something inside me.

‘Gold digger.’ If that's what it took to destroy Richard and Monica, then so be it.

I washed my hands mechanically, my mind racing. Alexander Hayes. Billionaire. Womanizer. Perfect.

I tucked my purse under my arm and headed back toward the party, my heels clicking with new goal.

One step out of the bathroom, and I crashed with something solid and warm.

Strong hands gripped my waist, steadying me before I could fall. I looked up into the most incredible green eyes I hadever seen—warm emerald, like summer forests after rain.

"Whoa there," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent heat straight through me.

"You okay?"

He was devastating. Sharp jaw, dark hair that looked like he had run his fingers through it, and a smile that was pure sin.

Everything about him screamed danger and money.

"I'm fine," I breathed, suddenly aware of how his hands felt on my waist—large, warm, possessive.

"Good," he murmured, his eyes traveling over my face like he was memorizing every detail. "Can't have beautiful women getting hurt on my watch."

"Alexander!" A sultry voice called from behind me. "There you are, darling."

My heart stopped. ‘Alexander.’

This was him. The billionaire womanizer who could fund my revenge. And he was touching me like he owned me.

He didn't move his hands, did not even look away from my face. "In a minute," he called back, his voice dismissive.

The relaxed dismissal sent a thrill through me. He was choosing me over whoever was calling his name.

"What's your name?" His thumbs traced small circles on my waist through the thin fabric of my dress.

"Claire," I managed, my voice breathier than I aimed at.

"Claire." He said it like he was tasting something exquisite. "Perfect name for a perfect woman."

It was a line. Had to be. But the way he said it, the way he was looking at me like I was the only woman in the world, made my knees weak.

"Are you here alone?" His voice dropped lower, more intimate.

"I'm here with Eleanor Blackwood."

Something flashed in his green eyes….surprise? Recognition? "Eleanor. Interesting."

"Do you know her?"

His smile turned mysterious. "You could say that." He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Tell me, Claire, what brings a woman like you to a party like this?"

The question was loaded with meaning. I could feel the heat spreading out from his body, smell his cologne—something expensive and intoxicating.

"I'm looking for someone," I said honestly.

"Found him." The confidence in his voice made my pulse race.

"Alexander, darling!" The voice was closer now, tinged with irritation.

He sighed, finally releasing my waist. The loss of contact felt like a physical ache.

"Duty calls," he said, pressing something into my palm. "But this isn't over, Claire."

I looked down at the business card, warm from his pocket. ‘Alexander Hayes, CEO, Hayes International.’

"Call me," he said, his fingers brushing mine as he stepped back. "Soon."

Then he was gone, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart hammering against my ribs.

I flipped the card over. In bold handwriting: "I don't believe in coincidences. - A"

I stared at the words, a chill running down my spine. What did that mean? How could meeting me be anything other than coincidence?

"Claire?" Eleanor's voice made me jump. "There you are, darling. I've been looking everywhere for you."

I slipped the card into my purse. "Just getting some air."

"Good." She linked her arm through mine, her eyes bright with something I couldn't identify. "Because there's someone very special I want you to meet."

My blood turned to ice. "Eleanor, you promised Richard wouldn't be here."

"He's not," she said quickly. "This is someone else entirely. Someone who's been very eager to meet you."

She led me toward the main room, and I caught sight of Alexander across the space. He was talking to a stunning redhead, but his eyes found mine through the crowd.

He raised his champagne glass in a small salute, that wicked smile playing at his lips.

"Who is that?" I asked Eleanor, nodding toward Alexander.

Eleanor followed my gaze, and her face lit up with unmistakable triumph.

"That, my dear Claire," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction, "is exactly who I wanted you to meet."

The world wavered. "What?"

"Alexander Hayes. And if I'm not mistaken, he's already quite taken with you."

I watched Alexander excuse himself from the redhead and start walking toward us, his eyes never leaving mine.

This wasn't a coincidence. This was staged.

And I had no idea what game I was playing, or who was really pulling the strings.