Chapter 3

My laptop screen cast a blue glow across the darkened bedroom as Chloe's familiar face appeared. It was nearly midnight in New York, making it nine in Los Angeles. Alexander was working late—or rather, with Rachel, I now knew. The thought made my stomach clench with a mixture of nausea and rage.

"Oh my God, Mia," Chloe gasped when she saw my face. "You look terrible. What's happening?"

I hadn't spoken to my college roommate in months, not since Alexander had subtly discouraged my "distracting" friendships. Now I understood why—friends might have helped me see the truth sooner.

"My entire marriage is a lie," I whispered, afraid that even the walls of our penthouse might betray me to Alexander. "He married me as a bet, Chloe. A fraternity bet. And he's been cheating on me with his assistant. She's pregnant too."

Chloe's expression shifted from shock to fierce protectiveness. "That absolute monster. I never trusted him, even back at UCLA."

"I need to get out," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "I can't raise my child in this... this fiction."

"Come to LA," Chloe said without hesitation. "My guest house is yours for as long as you need it. No one would think to look for you here."

I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. "I've been transferring money, gathering evidence. My lawyer says I need to be strategic."

"What about your things?"

"I don't want anything from this life," I said, glancing around at the designer furniture, the expensive art—all selected to match Alexander's exacting standards. "Just clothes, some personal items. I can have them shipped once I'm settled."

Chloe leaned closer to her camera. "Remember Daniel Park from our marketing class? He's here in LA now. Has his own architecture firm. He always asked about you, you know."

A faint memory surfaced—kind eyes, a gentle smile, someone who actually listened when I spoke. Before Alexander had consumed my world.

"I'll book your flight," Chloe continued, already typing. "Use my credit card information. Nothing that can be traced back to you."

As we finalized the details of my escape, I felt something I hadn't experienced in years—hope.

* * *

Two weeks later, the annual Hayes Financial Christmas party glittered with Manhattan's elite. I stood by the champagne fountain, nursing a glass of sparkling water, my pregnancy still our secret—or so I thought.

"Enjoying the party, Mrs. Hayes?"

I turned to find Rachel standing behind me, resplendent in a form-fitting red dress that showcased her slightly rounded belly. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"Rachel," I managed, my voice barely audible over the holiday music. "You look... well."

"I am well," she smirked, stepping closer. "Alexander makes sure of it."

I glanced around, desperate for escape, but she followed me as I retreated toward the ladies' room. Once inside, she cornered me against the marble counter.

"You know, don't you?" Her voice dripped with satisfaction. "About us. About the baby."

I remained silent, unwilling to give her the reaction she craved.

She placed her hand on her stomach, caressing it slowly. "I'll give him the real heir he deserves. Not some consolation prize from a woman he never wanted."

The words struck like physical blows. I gripped the counter behind me, knuckles white.

"He told me about the bet," Rachel continued, leaning in. "How his fraternity brothers dared him to make the desperate girl from marketing fall in love with him. Ten years later, and you're still pathetically hanging on."

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of her.

"You don't know anything about me," I whispered.

"I know everything about you, Mia. Alexander and I laugh about you. How you rearrange the flowers if he frowns at them. How you memorize wine vintages just to impress him. It's sad, really."

She turned to check her lipstick in the mirror, satisfied with the damage she'd inflicted. "Enjoy the party, Mrs. Hayes. While you still can."

After she left, I collapsed against the wall, tears streaming down my face. I pressed my hand against my stomach, whispering a promise to my unborn child: "We deserve better than this. And we're going to find it."

* * *

The Winters Foundation Gala two weeks later was Alexander's favorite social event of the season. As we entered the grand ballroom of The Plaza, his hand rested on the small of my back—a possessive gesture for the cameras, nothing more.

"Alexander Hayes!" The foundation's director approached. "And your lovely wife. Wonderful to see you both."

Alexander nodded curtly. "Richard. How's Sarah?"

"Radiant. Seven months along now." Richard beamed. "First child. We're over the moon."

"Nothing compares to impending fatherhood," Alexander replied with practiced sincerity. "Sarah must be glowing."

I felt sick, and not from the pregnancy. The casual way he spoke about fatherhood while carrying on with Rachel made my skin crawl.

"Excuse me," I murmured, feeling a wave of genuine nausea. "I need some air."

Alexander barely glanced at me. "Don't be long. The Carmichaels want to discuss their portfolio."

I made my way to a quiet balcony, gulping in the cold December air. When Alexander found me minutes later, his expression was thunderous.

"What are you doing out here? The Carmichaels are waiting."

"I felt ill," I said truthfully.

He sighed impatiently. "Take an antacid. This dinner is important."

No concern. No care. Not even the pretense of it anymore.

In that moment, watching him straighten his already perfect tie, I knew with absolute certainty that I couldn't stay another day. My escape couldn't wait any longer.

As Alexander turned to go back inside, I looked out over the twinkling Manhattan skyline—the city I'd once thought would be the backdrop to my happily ever after. By this time next week, I would be gone, and Alexander Hayes would learn that some games have consequences he never anticipated.