Chapter 3: The Breaking Point

My phone rang again. Harper pulled it out, looked at the screen, and her mouth tightened.

"Ethan?" I asked.

"Worse. Victoria."

My blood turned to ice. "Don't answer it."

"Wasn't planning to." She silenced the phone and tossed it back in her purse. "Let her wonder. Let them all wonder."

She zipped the suitcase, grabbed my coat from the hook, and wrapped it around my shoulders. Her hands were gentle despite the rage still burning in her eyes.

"You ready?"

I looked around the penthouse. At the couch where I'd found them. At the kitchen where I'd made breakfast this morning, completely unaware my world was about to implode. At the bedroom where I'd slept beside Ethan last night, his arm around my waist, his breath warm on my neck.

Had he been thinking about her then? Had he been comparing us?

"Violet." Harper's voice pulled me back. "You ready?"

No. I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready. But I nodded anyway because what else was I supposed to do?

She picked up the suitcase and steered me toward the door. I followed, one foot in front of the other, like I was learning to walk for the first time.

We were almost to the elevator when I heard it. The sound of the penthouse door opening.

We both froze.

Footsteps. Two sets. One heavy, one light.

Harper's hand tightened on my arm. "Keep walking," she hissed.

But it was too late. They'd seen us.

"Violet, wait."

Ethan's voice. I closed my eyes, every muscle in my body locking up.

"Please, just... can we talk? Just for five minutes."

Harper spun around, putting herself between me and him. "She has nothing to say to you."

"I wasn't talking to you, Harper." His voice had that edge now. The one that said he was getting annoyed. "This is between me and my wife."

"Your wife." Harper's laugh was sharp enough to cut. "That's rich. You remember that while you had your tongue down her stepsister's throat?"

I heard Layla gasp. Couldn't bring myself to look at her.

"This isn't your business," Ethan said, and I could hear him moving closer. "Violet, please. Look at me."

Something in his voice, that pleading tone he used when he wanted something, made me finally turn around.

He looked the same. Perfectly put together as always, his hair combed, his shirt buttoned. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just destroyed everything.

But it was Layla I couldn't stop staring at. She was standing behind him, eyes red and puffy, mascara still smudged. She'd changed clothes. Was wearing one of her usual outfits, jeans and a sweater. Normal. Like this was just another day.

"I'm so sorry," she said, and her voice cracked. "Violet, I'm so, so sorry. I never wanted this to happen."

"But it did happen." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "It happened, and you let it happen, and now you're standing here in my home acting like you're the victim."

"I'm not..." She took a step forward. "I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But please, you have to understand. He... he pursued me. He told me things weren't good between you two. He said you barely talked anymore, that you were always working, that he felt alone."

I looked at Ethan. He had the decency to look uncomfortable.

"That's not true," I said quietly.

"I know that now." Layla was crying again. "I know he lied to me. Used me. I was stupid and I fell for it and I'm sorry. But you have to believe me, if I'd known..."

"Known what?" Harper cut in. "Known that he was still married? Known that violet loved him? Known that you were about to blow up your own sister's life?"

"Stepsister," Layla said, and there was something in her voice. Something small and bitter.

The word hung in the air like a slap.

"Right," I said softly. "Stepsister. Because that makes it better, doesn't it? Because we're not really family, so it doesn't really count."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" I took a step toward her, and she backed up. "What did you mean when you looked at me tonight, Layla? When you met my eyes and I saw that look on your face. What was that?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked to Ethan for help.

And that, that single look, told me everything I needed to know.

"You're still looking to him," I said, and I almost laughed. "Even now. Even after everything. You're still looking to him like he's going to save you."

"Vio..." Ethan started.

"No." The word came out hard. Final. "You don't get to talk anymore. You don't get to explain or justify or manipulate. You're done."

His jaw clenched. "This is my home too. You can't just..."

"Watch me." I looked him dead in the eye, and for the first time all night, I felt something other than pain. I felt rage. Pure, clarifying rage. "You want to stay in this apartment? Fine. Sleep on that couch where you fucked my sister. But I'm not staying here. I'm not staying anywhere near you."

"You're being dramatic," he said, and his voice had gone cold. Professional. Like I was a difficult client he had to manage. "If we could just sit down and discuss this rationally..."

"Rationally?" Harper's voice was deadly quiet. "You want her to be rational right now? After what you did?"

"I made a mistake," Ethan said. "People make mistakes. It doesn't have to end our marriage."

I stared at him. At this man I'd loved. And I realized I was looking at a stranger.

"It already ended," I said. "The moment you touched her, our marriage was over. You just didn't tell me."

I turned back to the elevator, Harper right beside me. The doors opened with a soft ding.

"Violet, wait!" Layla's voice was desperate now. "Please, we can fix this. We're family. We can..."

I stepped into the elevator, looked at her one last time.

"No," I said simply. "We can't."

The doors slid shut on her crying face, on Ethan's furious expression, on the wreckage of everything I'd built.

And as the elevator descended, carrying me away from the life I'd known, I felt something shift inside me.

The woman who'd walked into that penthouse an hour ago was gone.

The woman riding down this elevator was someone new.

Someone who'd just made herself a promise.

They wanted to destroy me? Fine.

I'd destroy them first.

Harper must have seen it on my face because she squeezed my hand and smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. It was sharp and fierce and promised blood.

"There she is," Harper said quietly. "There's my girl."

The elevator doors opened to the lobby. Miguel looked up, concern crossing his face when he saw me.

"Mrs. Carter? Is everything..."

"Fine," I said, and my voice didn't shake. "Everything's fine. Could you call me a cab?"

"Of course."

As we waited, I pulled out my phone. Ignored the seventeen missed calls and thirty-two text messages. Opened my camera and pulled up the photos from tonight.

There. The last one I'd taken before everything fell apart. Ethan and Layla, caught mid-betrayal. His face turned toward her, lips parted. Her hands in his hair. Clear. Unmistakable. Damning.

I looked at Harper. "I need you to save this. Multiple backups. Cloud, hard drive, everything."

She grinned. Actually grinned. "You evil genius. I love you."

"I love you too." I looked back at the elevator. Up toward the penthouse. Toward them.

And I meant every word when I said, "But I'm going to destroy them more."

The rain started the moment we hit the street.

Of course it did. Because apparently the universe had decided tonight was the perfect night to dump every possible misery on my head at once. Husband cheating? Check. With my stepsister? Check. In my own home? Check. Oh, and let's add a torrential downpour just for fun.

"Shit." Harper threw her arm up, trying to flag down a cab that didn't exist. The street was empty, just wet pavement reflecting the glow of streetlights. "Where the hell are all the taxis?"

"It's fine." I was already soaked, hair plastered to my face, coat doing absolutely nothing. "We can walk."

"Walk? Violet, it's twelve blocks to my place."

"Then we walk twelve blocks." I started moving, dragging my suitcase behind me. The wheels caught on every crack in the sidewalk, making this horrible scraping sound that matched perfectly with how I felt inside.

Harper caught up, holding her blazer over both our heads like that would help. It didn't. Within seconds we were both drenched, makeup running, shivering in our completely inappropriate clothing.

"This is insane," Harper said, but she kept walking beside me. "We should wait for..."

"I can't stop moving." The words came out harsh. "If I stop moving, I'll think. If I think, I'll fall apart. So we're walking."

She didn't argue after that. Just adjusted her grip on the blazer and matched my pace.

The city looked different in the rain. Blurrier. Less real. Like I was watching it through a filter, like none of this was actually happening to me. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe I'd wake up in a few hours and realize this was just some horrible nightmare brought on by bad takeout.