Three.
I pressed the side button.
Silence.
Then another call.
And another.
By the time I reached the service elevator, seven calls and twelve messages had arrived.
Madison, pick up.
This isn’t funny.
You can’t just lock me out.
I LIVE THERE.
I’m in the Uber.
Stop acting crazy.
The service elevator opened with a metallic groan.
I rolled his luggage inside.
Gray protective blankets lined the walls, and the air smelled of dust and industrial cleaning products.
As the doors closed, my reflection appeared in the steel panel.
Thirty-five.
Architect.
Wife.
Perhaps not anymore.
The elevator descended.
Forty-two.
Forty-one.
Forty.
Another vibration.
Ethan had written:
You’re seriously throwing me out because I went dancing?
I nearly laughed.
Not from amusement.
Because he’d already begun rewriting what happened.
It took less than ten minutes.
I typed:
No.
Paused.
Then added:
I’m taking you seriously.
I slipped my phone away.
In the lobby, Victor, the overnight doorman, glanced up.
His eyes shifted toward the suitcases.
“Everything okay, Mrs. Cole?”
“No.”
He understood I wouldn’t elaborate.
I placed the luggage beneath the covered entrance, protected from the rain.
“These belong to Ethan. He’s coming back.”
Victor hesitated.
“Do you want me to bring them back upstairs when he arrives?”
“No.”
I met his gaze.
“And his access code isn’t active anymore. Please call me if there’s a problem.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
But after years working in luxury buildings, Victor knew wealthy people could wreck their lives just like anyone else.
“Understood.”
I returned upstairs.
At 2:31 a.m., the intercom rang.
I knew who was calling.
I let it ring.
Then came my phone.
Then the intercom again.
Eventually, I answered.
“Madison.”
Ethan’s furious voice echoed through the apartment.
Beneath his anger, I heard something unfamiliar.
Fear.
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No.”
“I’m standing downstairs like some homeless person while Victor stares at me.”
“Your suitcases are there.”
“I saw the damn suitcases.”
“Then you have what you need for tonight.”
“Open. The. Door.”
I watched rain strike the windows.
“No.”
He paused.
Then lowered his voice.
“You don’t get to do this.”
“You told me to divorce you.”
“I was angry.”
“You told me more than once.”
“Oh my God, Madison. People say things when they’re angry.”
“That’s true.”
“So open the door.”
“No.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“Why are you acting like this?”
I almost explained.
Then realized he genuinely didn’t understand.
That realization hurt more than the nightclub.
More than his messages.
More than seeing Chloe beside his bare hand.
For six months, I’d taught him that every boundary he crossed would eventually be forgiven.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said.
“Madison.”
“Tomorrow.”
“If you hang up on me, don’t expect me to come crawling back.”
I closed my eyes.
Again, he assumed I wanted him to return.
“You don’t have to.”
I ended the call.
For the first time that night, complete silence filled the penthouse.
Thirty seconds later, Victor called.
“Mrs. Cole?”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Cole asked me to tell you something.”
I waited.
Victor sounded uneasy.
“He said you’ll regret embarrassing him.”
I glanced at our wedding photograph.
“No, Victor.”
I walked over and turned the frame facedown.
“I think I’ve regretted enough already.”
## Chapter 2: The morning after
I didn’t sleep.
