Chapter 3

My husband drove me to Mr. Lowell's apartment building, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He thrust the carefully wrapped gifts into my hands. "You should go up alone," he said, avoiding my eyes.

The elevator ride felt endless. When I reached the penthouse, I barely had time to ring the bell before the door flew open—revealing Sophia Roland, our office manager, draped over Mr. Lowell like a human necklace, her lips planted on his neck.

My breath caught. For a heartbeat, I thought I'd interrupted a marital moment—until recognition hit. Sophia recovered first, flashing a Cheshire cat smile as she sauntered past me. Her blouse buttons were mismatched, and when our eyes met, hers burned with pure venom.

"Here about Daniel's promotion?" she purred, leaning close enough for me to smell her Chanel No. 5. "Good luck with that." Her mocking laughter trailed behind her like toxic perfume.

"Emily! What a surprise!" Mr. Lowell boomed, acting like we'd just bumped into each other at a coffee shop. The apartment was conspicuously empty—no wife, no kids, just an uncomfortable silence and my pounding heart.

I extended the gifts with both hands, my smile straining. His fingers lingered too long against mine, the contact making my skin crawl after what I'd just witnessed.

He poured water I didn't want. "Your husband's talented, no question," he began, circling like a shark. "But the board favors Sophia for this promotion..." His eyes dropped to my wedding ring. "Unless you're willing to... negotiate."

The implication hung between us, thick as cigar smoke. When I didn't respond, he waved at the untouched gifts. "Take these back. Meet me tomorrow at The Ritz-Carlton—Suite 808. Show up, and Daniel gets promoted the next morning." His smile turned wolfish. "Sleep on it."

Daniel's face darkened when he saw the rejected gifts. He slammed the steering wheel so hard the horn blared. "Goddammit! I knew Sophia would pull this shit!"

"You sent me in there knowing?" My voice cracked. "Were you offering me as bait?"

His anger crumpled. "Never! But Emily... this promotion..." His phone rang—his mother asking about the raise we'd promised would let us start a family. Watching him lie to her broke something in me.

That night, Daniel unraveled in our bed, painting dreams of me quitting my job, of nursery walls and college funds. His desperation wore me down until I whispered, "I'll go."

The next evening, he handed me juice outside The Ritz-Carlton. "For courage," he said, avoiding my eyes as the elevator doors closed between us.

Suite 808's door swung open to reveal Richard in a robe that barely covered his smug grin. But when I stepped inside, my blood turned to ice—five more men in identical robes stood waiting, their hungry smiles mirroring Richard's.