He abandoned his scheduled mission, practically jumping back and away from the elevator. And with a mechanic sigh, the doors slid shut, leaving Emilia alone with her reflection in the polished steel.
She looked insane. Half of her hair was falling out of its elegant updo. Mascara was starting to run down her cheek. Her lipstick had bitten away.
The carefully put-together wife of Jax Romano had disappeared, replaced by this wild-eyed woman clutching a red, lace, thong, that wasn’t hers, like a disgraced and haunted wife.
She liked it that way. Let him see what his infidelity had done to her.
The elevator climbed higher. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth. Each ding felt like a countdown to destruction.
Her phone suddenly buzzed with a text from Gena: I told you. I'm sorry, baby, but I told yo
