Chapter 2 - THE GHOST IN THE PENTHOUSE
The elevator pinged with a soft,
melodic sound that felt entirely too cheerful for the destruction I was about to witness.
The doors opened directly into the executive lounge,
a space filled with the scent of expensive bourbon,
cigar smoke,
and the desperate ambition of the elite.
Dominic was there,
standing in the center of a circle of laughing businessmen,
looking every bit the conqueror he believed himself to be.
He was wearing a suit I had bought him for his birthday,
a watch my brother had gifted him for an anniversary he probably didn't remember.
But what caught my breath wasn't the man I thought I loved;
it was the woman standing by his side,
her hand resting possessively on his forearm.
She was beautiful in a predictable way,
wearing diamonds that were far too large and a dress that cost more than a year of Sophia’s tuition.
And beside them,
a small boy,
no older than seven,
dressed in a miniature tuxedo that matched Dominic’s perfectly.
He looked so much like Dominic it was as if someone had taken a knife and carved a piece of my heart out.
Sophia let go of my hand and took a step forward,
her eyes wide as she saw her father.
"Daddy!"
she called out,
the word echoing through the high-ceilinged room.
The circle of men broke apart,
and Dominic turned,
his glass of bourbon frozen halfway to his lips.
The color drained from his face so fast it was like a curtain being pulled down over a window.
The woman beside him frowned,
her eyes narrowing as she looked at me,
then at the child clinging to my side.
"Dominic,
who is this?"
she asked,
her voice sharp and entitled.
Dominic didn't answer her;
his gaze was fixed on me,
filled with a mixture of terror and a strange,
ugly kind of recognition.
"Vivienne,"
he choked out,
the name sounding like a confession.
"What are you doing here?"
I walked toward him,
each step measured,
each breath controlled.
"Sophia wanted to give you a surprise,"
I said,
gesturing to the paper necklace that was now trembling in her hands.
The boy in the miniature tuxedo looked at Sophia,
then at the paper necklace,
and let out a mocking little laugh.
"That looks like trash,"
the boy said,
his voice carrying the same arrogance I had just heard from Chloe downstairs.
Dominic didn't scold him;
he didn't even look at him.
He was looking at me,
realizing that the two worlds he had kept apart for years were finally colliding.
"Dominic,
answer me,"
the woman snapped,
her hand tightening on his arm.
"Is this the woman from the old office?
The one you said was obsessed with you?"
I felt a surge of cold fury that threatened to drown the room.
Obsessed?
I had built his company from the ground up while he was out "networking" with women like her.
I had used my family’s connections to secure his first million-dollar contract.
"I am his wife,"
I said,
my voice ringing out like a bell in the sudden silence of the penthouse.
The woman laughed,
a high,
shrill sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"His wife?
Darling,
I’ve been his wife for eight years.
We were married in Italy."
I looked at Dominic,
waiting for the lie,
waiting for the explanation that would never come.
"Eight years?"
I whispered.
"We’ve been married for six."
The math was simple,
and the conclusion was devastating.
He hadn't just cheated;
he had built an entire parallel existence,
using my family's money to fund a life for a woman he had married before he ever met me.
I wasn't the wife;
I was the silent partner,
May you like
the secret investor,
the fool who had kept the lights on while he played house with someone else.
