He left me at the bus stop. He thought he won. He had no idea who I was about to meet.
The back door of the sedan opened with a soft click—expensive, precise, the kind of sound money makes when it’s been around for generations and has nothing left to prove. The “blind” woman tilted her chin toward me. “Come along, child.”
I hesitated only once.
Then I stepped inside. The leather smelled like old power—polished, lived-in, confident. The driver closed the door, walked around, and as he slid into the front seat, the woman took off her sunglasses.
Not blind. Not helpless. Not even close.
Her eyes were sharp, clear as winter water, assessing me with a mixture of curiosity and something that looked unsettlingly like recognition. “You’re Naomi Sterling,” she said. My stomach dropped.
“How do you know—”
“Because I make it my business to know who other powerful women marry—or escape.”
The car pulled away from the bus stop, leaving the dust Marcus left behind swirling like smoke. “My name is Evelyn Whitmore,” she continued, settling into her seat. “And my family built half the county your husband thinks he can impress.”
My mouth went dry.
Everyone knew the Whitmore name—the foundation donations, the tech investments, the political doors that opened only when that last name was whispered behind them. Evelyn looked at me again, softer now. “Tell me what he did.” And for the first time since Marcus drove away, I breathed.
“He emptied our joint account this morning,” I whispered. “Took my laptop, my phone, my cards. I think he wanted… freedom.”
Evelyn snorted.
“Freedom is expensive. He won’t be able to afford it.”
The driver’s eyes flicked up in the rearview mirror, amused. Evelyn leaned closer.
“And you let him walk away?”
“I had nothing,” I murmured. “Not even a ride home.”
Her lips curved. “Oh, sweetheart.
You’re about to have everything he thought he stole.”
The sedan cut through the highway, the world outside turning from dust to streetlights to the glittering skyline. “Driver,” she said, tapping her cane against the floor, “take us to the penthouse.”
Her penthouse. The city opened in front of us like a verdict.
⭐ THE PENTHOUSE
Forty-two floors up, glass walls wrapped around a room larger than my entire house. The American flag on the balcony snapped in the winter wind. The city lights shimmered like they’d been poured out just for her.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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