Chapter 3 - The Airport Ambush and the Grand Re-Entry
Within forty-five minutes, the apartment was gloriously empty. Teresa and Arthur had fled in a flurry of shrieks and slammed doors, dragging their overpriced Louis Vuitton luggage down to the lobby while muttering curses that could rival a sailor's vocabulary. I didn't care. The air in my home finally felt breathable.
But the game wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
An hour later, my phone rang. Caller ID: David.
I let it ring three times before swiping to answer, slipping into a tone of fragile, trembling panic.
“David! Oh, thank God! Something terrible has happened!” I cried out, injecting a masterclass of theatrical distress into my voice.
On the other end of the line, David sounded like a man standing on the edge of a jagged cliff during an earthquake. His voice was frantic, breathless, and laced with absolute panic. “Eleanor! Thank goodness you picked up! Listen, there’s been a massive banking glitch—some sort of security freeze on all my cards! And—and my flight to Tokyo was delayed, so I had to stay in a hotel near Manhattan, and—and—”
“Honey, it’s not a glitch!” I interrupted, letting a sob escape my lips. “The bank called me! They said someone tried to charge fifteen thousand dollars for diamond jewelry in New York while you were supposed to be airborne to Japan! They flagged it as international fraud and locked every single card permanently! Oh, David, are you okay? Did someone steal your wallet? Are you safe in Tokyo?”
There was a long, agonizing pause on the other end. I could practically hear the gears grinding in his pathetic brain as he realized he had been caught red-handed in a lie so colossal it couldn't be unspun.
“I... uh... well, you see, Eleanor...” David stammered, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “I actually... I didn't get on the plane yet. There was a last-minute corporate emergency in the city, and I had to stay back, and I was just... helping a colleague, and—!”
“A colleague?” I snapped, letting the innocent wife act drop instantly, my tone freezing over into pure, razor-sharp steel. “Is that what you call the blonde girl wearing the diamond tennis bracelet you tried to buy with my money while dumping your parents on me to play indentured servant?”
Silence. Absolute, terrifying silence.
“Where are you, David?” I asked quietly.
“I’m... I’m still at the hotel near Fifth Avenue,” he whispered, defeated.
“Good. Stay right there. I’m coming to pick you up. We need to talk face-to-face about our future.”
Forty minutes later, I pulled my SUV up to the grand entrance of the luxury hotel. David was standing by the curb, looking disheveled, his designer suit wrinkled, clutching a single duffel bag. Standing a few feet away, awkwardly trying to distance herself from the unfolding disaster, was his young mistress, looking horrified as she realized her sugar daddy was suddenly entirely broke.
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I rolled down the passenger-side window, resting my arm casually on the frame, and flashed him a dazzling, predatory smile.
“Hop in, darling,” I said sweetly. “Let's go home and sign some paperwork.”
