Chapter 3

I did not wake Graham that night.

I forwarded the photo to my own email, deleted the sent message, and returned his phone to the nightstand.

My hands did not shake once.

My calm frightened me more than tears would have.

At four in the morning, I walked into the study and called my father.

He answered on the first ring.

"Gen?" Theodore Calder's voice was rough with sleep. "What happened?"

I looked at the hotel acquisition agreement Graham had asked me to review, lying open on the desk, and felt the bitter edge of the irony.

"Dad, I'm divorcing Graham."

The other end of the line was silent for several seconds.

"What did he do?"

"I'll tell you when I get home."

My father did not press me. He did not tell me to calm down.

"All right," he said. "Come home."

After the call, I emailed the family attorney and a private investigator.

I did not ask them to hand me every answer immediately.

I gave them one instruction: "Find out when it started. Preserve every piece of evidence we can use in the divorce. Do not alert either of them before the papers are served."

Then I booked a flight to London for two days later.

By the time I finished, dawn had begun to pale the sky.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

Graham came into the study in his robe and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His chin rested on my shoulder, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Why are you up so early?"

I stared at the minimized flight confirmation on my screen.

"I couldn't sleep."

He kissed my temple.

"Still upset about last night?"

"A little."

"Stop torturing yourself." His palm settled lightly over my stomach. "You still have that doctor's appointment today, don't you? Call me when you're done."

My body went rigid.

For two weeks, I had been nauseated and exhausted. Even the smell of coffee made me want to throw up.

I had blamed work and the pressure of our approaching anniversary. Three days earlier, I had made an appointment with my family doctor and scheduled an email to Sloan, planning to tell her after she "landed."

Back then, she was still the first person I wanted to tell my secrets.

"Can you come with me?" I asked.

Graham's hand paused.

"An emergency financing meeting came up this morning," he answered too quickly. "I'll pick you up when it's over."

I nodded without reminding him that the financing meeting had been canceled the night before.

At ten that morning, I arrived at Copley Medical Center alone.

The elevator opened on the third floor, and a wave of dizziness hit me. I braced myself against the wall until the darkness cleared from my vision, then headed down the hall toward family medicine.

I stopped when I rounded the corner.

Graham was there.

He had promised to pick me up after his financing meeting.

But there was no financing meeting.

He was kneeling in front of Sloan, carefully resting her injured hand on his thigh as he adjusted the loose bandage around her wrist.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked softly.

Sloan shook her head. "I told you. It's barely a scratch."

"The doctor said to keep it dry."

One hour earlier, Graham had made me go to my appointment alone because he was too busy to spare the time.

Now he was kneeling on a hospital floor for a shallow cut on Sloan's wrist.

I stood in silence at the end of the hall.

I had already seen the photograph. I thought there was nothing left in me for him to hurt.

But watching him care for another woman the way he had once cared for me still tore my heart open.

Sloan lowered her eyes. "After last night, you shouldn't go back and celebrate your anniversary with her."

Graham's hands stilled.

"Not here, Sloan."

"Then where?" Her smile twisted. "In my bed? Or in the bed you share with her?"

Graham rose and stared at her, his face darkening.

"I love her."

"Then what am I?"

The hall was so quiet I could hear a supply cart rattling in the distance.

Graham did not answer.

Instead, he reached out and pulled Sloan back into his arms.

That was answer enough.

Sloan buried her face against his chest, her shoulders trembling. "What we're doing to her is cruel."

"I know." Graham closed his eyes. For the first time, I heard pain in his voice. "But I don't know how to let you go."

The last trace of warmth inside my chest vanished.

This had never been one terrible mistake.

He simply could not bear to leave me, and he could not bear to lose her.

As long as I never found out, he could keep both women and both lives for himself.

I stepped forward.

My heel struck the marble with a sharp click.

Graham's head snapped up.

His eyes moved past Sloan's shoulder and landed on me.

Every trace of color drained from his face.