Chapter 12

The elevator doors slid open on the executive floor with a soft chime. Heads turned instantly. Phones were lowered mid-scroll. Conversations died. Emily stepped out in sky-high heels, cream trench coat draped open over a scarlet dress that hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto her skin. Her red hair caught the overhead lights and burned.

A junior analyst froze, coffee halfway to his mouth. “Is that…?”

“Emily Madrigo,” someone whispered behind a cubicle wall. “The model. Holy shit.”

She smiled—slow, practiced, devastating—and the floor tilted toward her.

A marketing coordinator was the first to break. “Oh my God, can I get a selfie? My sister’s obsessed with you.”

Emily laughed, light and generous. “Of course, darling. Come here.”

Within seconds there were five people around her, then ten. Phones out. Autographs scribbled on notepads, on the back of business cards, on someone’s forearm. She signed everything, posed for every shot, called every girl “sweetheart” and every guy “handsome.” They ate it up.

Someone muttered, “Tom’s wife must be losing her mind right now.”

Another voice...sharper...snorted. “Sara? Please. She’s probably at home crying into her pillow. Tom upgraded.”

Emily heard. She pretended not to. But the corner of her mouth curled higher.

She glided through the sea of admirers like water, heels clicking a steady rhythm down the corridor toward Tom’s office. People parted without being asked. The double doors at the end were glass, frosted. She didn’t knock.

Tom looked up from his desk the second she entered. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He looked tired and dangerous. The kind of tired that made other men dangerous.

“Emily,” he said. Not as a greeting but a warning.

She closed the door behind her with a soft click. Locked it. Smiled.

“Surprise, baby.”

He didn’t smile back. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She walked toward him slowly, hips swaying just enough to remind him what he used to chase. “But I am.” She reached his desk, leaned forward, palms flat on the glass surface. The neckline of her dress dipped low. “And you’re not exactly throwing me out.”

Tom leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “What do you want? Didn't I leave a check at home? I am busy...”

She rounded the desk. Slid onto the edge right in front of him, legs crossing so her thigh brushed his knee. “You. Like last time. You made me scream your name, remember? I thought we could… continue.”

His jaw ticked. “I’m working.”

She reached out, fingers trailing down his tie. “You’re always working. Let me help you relax.”

He caught her wrist before she could go lower. Firmly and not gentle.

“Stop.”

Emily tilted her head. “Why? You’ve barely touched me since I moved in. Last time you fucked me like you hated me..and I loved it. So why the distance now?”

Tom’s grip tightened. His eyes darkened. “Because I’m not in the mood to play games.”

She laughed softly. “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you? Sara. The saint. The perfect little wife who supposedly cheated on you.” She leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. “Let me remind you what real pleasure feels like.”

He stood abruptly. She slid off the desk, startled. He reached into his drawer, pulled out his black Amex card, and tossed it onto the surface between them.

“Go shopping,” he said. Voice flat. “Buy whatever you want. Take a friend or something. Just… go.”

Emily stared at the card. Then at him. Her smile faltered for half a second before she recovered. She picked it up, twirled it between her fingers.

“Fine. But don’t pretend you don’t want me, Tom.” She leaned in one last time, pressed a quick, hard kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’ll find me at home...Honey.”

She turned and walked out, heels clicking again, card already in her hand. The door closed behind her.

Tom stood motionless for a long second.

Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Hospital.

He answered on the second ring.

“Mr. McCarthy,” the nurse said carefully. “We have an update on your wife’s mother’s case. The donor… has backed out.”

Tom’s hand tightened around the phone until his knuckles turned white.

“Backed out?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “Why?”

“They didn’t give a reason. Just… withdrew consent this morning. We’re trying to find another match, but it could take time. Weeks. Maybe longer.”

Silence stretched.

Tom stared at the city skyline through the glass.

His mother-in-law was dying.

And the only person who could have saved her...without Sara ever knowing....was him.

He’d pulled every string. Paid every f*e. Found a compatible donor through private channels. Kept it anonymous. Because even after everything...after the video, after the betrayal, after the hate...he couldn’t let that woman die because that would cost him his freedom. He wanted Sara divorced and humiliated.

And now the donor was gone. He ended the call without another word.

Then he sat down hard in his head chairead in his hands.

He took out his phone again and made a few calls. He is as set on making sure Rose Michaels lived, so that Sara would pay her price.

"I will save your mother...Sara...Just a few more weeks and the deal will be done..And you will be out of my life...For good!"

Tom convinced himself. But he could not quite understand why he felt irritated when Emily showed up. Why his mind could not accept it.