Elena’s Point Of View “You can’t leave like this,” Graham said, his body shifting to fill the entire frame of the doorway.
He didn’t just block me; he anchored himself, his large hands reaching out to grab the sides of the doorframe.
“You’re still my wife, Elena.” I looked down at his shoes, then up to his tight, sweating face.
“You’ve gotten the child you have always wanted, Graham.
Now I’m getting my fun.” “You can’t do that, Elena,” he said, his voice dropping into that heavy, territorial register that used to make me freeze.
His chest expanded, nearly brushing against the black silk of my dress.
“You’re mine.
You’re my wife.
You don’t just walk out into the night looking like a target.” I let out a short, dry scoff that felt like gravel in my throat.
“Oh, so the rules of the open marriage only apply to you and not me?
Is that how the Sinclair logic works?” I didn’t wait for his answer.
I jammed my palm right against his sternum and pushed him away with every bit of weight I had left.
He stumbled back a half-inch—just enough for me to clear the threshold.
“Let her go, Graham,” Matilda barked from the living room archway.
Her heels stayed glued to the Persian rug, her face twisted into something tight and ugly.
“She’s nothing but a leech anyway.
She doesn’t belong in our family.
Let her see how far she gets without your name.” Graham didn’t look back at his mother, but his shoulders hitched.
“Mother!
This is between me and my wife.
Stay out of it.” I couldn’t help the laugh that came out then… a small, ragged sound.
“Your wife.
Right.” Graham lunged forward and caught my wrist before I could hit the gravel of the driveway.
His grip wasn’t soft.
His fingers dug into the bone, his thumb pressing down hard enough to leave a mark.
“Let’s talk this through.
Don’t go do something you will regret, Elena.
You’re emotional right now.
You’re not thinking.” “My only regret,” I said, leaning in so close he could smell the red lipstick, “was marrying you, Graham.” I jerked my arm back.
He wasn’t expecting the pull, and his fingers slid off my skin.
I took two deliberate steps back onto the stone porch, the cool night air hitting the bare skin of my back.
“You wanted an open marriage?” I said, my voice dropping into a sweet, mocking lilt that made his jaw twitch.
“You’ve got one.
But don’t forget… I can open doors too.” I lifted my fingers to my lips, blew him a small, careless kiss, and turned on my heel.
“Don’t worry, Graham.
I’ll have fun.” “Elena!” I didn’t look back.
My stilettos clicked against the concrete of the driveway as I marched toward my car.
My hands were shaking so hard I dropped the keys twice before the locks popped.
I got in, threw my purse onto the passenger seat, and slammed the door with a dull, heavy thud that shook the glass.
I gripped the steering wheel at twelve o’clock, my knuckles turning completely white.
My chest was heaving against the tight silk of the gown, the heat in my face threatening to spill over.
“No,” I muttered to the dark dashboard.
“I’m not going to ruin my makeup.
Not for him.
Not tonight.” I threw the car into reverse, the tires spitting loose gravel against the neatly manicured hedges as I backed out.
I didn’t look at the front door in the rearview mirror.
I just pressed the gas and drove out of the estate, the iron gates parting slowly before me like the jaws of a trap opening up.
The GPS coordinates Lexy sent took me forty minutes outside the residential lines, deeper into the commercial district where the buildings grew tall and dark.
When I finally pulled the car into the valet lane, my brow furrowed.
The sign above the canopy was small, bronze, and backlit by a low amber glow: The Vesper Club.
It was one of those places you needed three different recommendations just to get on the waiting list for a membership.
No flashing neon.
No bass vibrating through the pavement outside.
Just a heavy mahogany door and a single bouncer who looked like he spent his mornings lifting small vehicles.
I got out of the car, the valet taking the keys without a word.
As I stepped onto the curb, I saw Lexy leaning against the iron railing near the entrance.
She had a cigarette between her fingers, the smoke drifting up into the humid air, but the moment her eyes hit my dress, she dropped it and crushed it under her boot.
“Why are we at a club, Lex?” I asked, my voice still carrying that raw, post-crying rasp.
Lexy looked me up and down, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across her lips.
“Well, you look the part.
Come on in, sweetheart.” She didn’t ask questions.
She just reached back, grabbed my hand, and led me straight to the bouncer.
She didn’t offer a name; she just slipped a heavy, black matte membership card between his fingers.
The man didn’t even look at the photo.
He just nodded and pulled the heavy door open for us.
Inside, it wasn’t what I expected.
There was no wall of sound, no sweaty crowd bumping shoulders.
The Vesper Club was low-lit, filled with deep velvet booths and the low, low hum of a jazz bassline coming from speakers hidden somewhere in the dark molding.
It smelled like old leather, expensive bourbon, and something metallic—like ozone after a storm.
Lexy led me through the maze of private sections until we reached a booth in the very back, shielded by a heavy silk curtain.
“Sit here,” she said, pushing me gently onto the tufted cushions.
A waiter appeared out of the shadows almost instantly, his head bowed.
Lexy looked at me.
“What are we doing?
Wine?” “Alcohol,” I said, my palms flat against the leather seat.
“Give me alcohol.
Something clear.
Something that burns.” Lexy’s eyebrows shot up.
She reached across the table, her thumb catching my chin, tilting my face toward the low amber light to inspect the concealer on my jaw.
“You know you get easily tipsy, Elena.
You haven’t had a hard drink since the Sinclair gala last winter.” “I don’t care,” I said.
My voice didn’t shake this time.
It was just heavy.
“Order it.” Lexy turned to the waiter.
“A bottle of the gray label.
Ice on the side.
Don’t come back until the bottle is empty.” When it arrived, I didn’t wait for the ice.
I grabbed the neck of the bottle, the glass cold against my palm, and poured a full three fingers into the lowball glass.
I drank it back in two swallows.
It tasted like rubbing alcohol and fire, scraping down my throat until my stomach felt hot.
I poured another.
Drank it.
I poured a third, my wrist getting a little clumsy, a single drop of the clear liquid spilling onto the black silk of my skirt.
I was lifting the fourth glass to my mouth when Lexy’s hand shot across the table, her fingers locking around my wrist with a firm, unyielding pressure.
“Elena,” she said softly.
“Stop.” I stared at her fingers on my arm.
Then I looked up at her face…
the sharp line of her nose, the genuine, dark concern in her eyes.
The heat in my throat suddenly surged upward, turning into a massive, suffocating knot behind my tongue.
I set the glass down with a tiny click.
My shoulders gave out first, dropping forward, and then my face went into my palms.
Lexy slid around the circular booth in a second, her arm coming around my back, pulling my head down against the leather of her jacket.
I stiffened for a fraction of a second, my mind telling me to stay rigid, to stay clean, to not let the walls down.
Then I just burst into tears.
“I was so stupid, Lexy,” I sobbed into her collarbone, the words muffled, my fingers bunching the fabric of her sleeve until my nails dug into my own palms.
“I trusted him.
I gave him five years.
I took those injections until my thighs were bruised black and blue.
I let his mother tell me I was broken.
I gave him everything, and he still…
he still brought her into my room.” Lexy didn’t say a word.
She just held me tighter, her chin resting against the top of my head, her hand moving in slow, heavy circles between my shoulder blades.
“I was never enough for him,” I choked out, the liquor making my tongue loose, the raw humiliation of the foyer coming out in a gray, ugly smear.
“He never loved me.
He just wanted a name and a biological box checked off.
He sat there and watched his mother slap me, Lex.
He stood there.
He didn’t even pull me up.” I felt the sudden change in Lexy’s body before I heard it… the way her spine went completely rigid under my hands, her breathing turning short and sharp.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands gripping my shoulders so hard it left pink marks through the silk.
Her eyes were dark, almost black in the low light of the booth, her jaw set so tight the muscle was jumping.
“He is a goddamn coward,” Lexy hissed, her voice vibrating with a quiet, lethal rage that made the ice in our bucket rattle.
“Listen to me, Elena.
Look at me.” I wiped my nose with the side of my thumb, my vision blurry.
“You are not the failure here,” she said, her voice dropping into that fierce, protective tone she’d used since we were girls.
“Graham Sinclair is a douchebag who doesn’t deserve the dirt under your shoes.
He’s a weak, small man who needs a little girl to make him feel like a king because he knows he could never handle a real woman.
You did everything right.
Do you hear me?
Everything.” “He said I bored him,” I whispered, the red lipstick smeared on the back of my hand.
“He said that because he’s trying to break you so you won’t take half of his estate when you leave,” Lexy snapped, her eyes flashing.
“He’s a parasite, Elena.
The whole family is.
Matilda is a bitter old vulture who’s been looking for a reason to claw at you since day one.
You are out.
That’s the only thing that matters tonight.
You are out of that tomb.” I looked at her for a long moment, my chest finally slowing down, the heavy, dark weight of the alcohol starting to numb the edges of the room.
“Thank you, Lex.” “Don’t thank me yet,” she said, a small, grim smile returning to her lips as she reached over and turned the small dial on the wall of our booth.
The low jazz music suddenly shifted, a heavy, rhythmic bassline kicking in through the private speaker above our heads.
“Come on.
Let’s dance.
You’re not sitting in this corner looking at a glass all night.” “Let’s have one more bottle first,” I said, pointing a clumsy finger at the nearly empty gray label.
Lexy hesitated for a second, looking at my flushed cheeks, then nodded.
“Fine.
But we’re moving while we drink it.” One bottle turned into three between the two of us.
By the time the bass was thumping through the floorboards, the room was swaying gently every time I turned my head.
The grief had turned into a foggy, distant hum, replaced by the heavy, warm weight of the liquor.
I was laughing now, my hair wild around my face, my bare shoulder pressed against Lexy’s as we moved to the rhythm inside the small booth.
Suddenly, Lexy’s phone began to buzz against the marble table, the screen lighting up with her office logo.
She groaned, looking at the clock on the wall.
“I have to take this,” she shouted over the bass, pressuring her finger against her ear.
“It’s the London distributor.
If I don’t pick up, they’ll pull the whole shipment.” “Go,” I waved a hand, my balance a little off as I sank back into the velvet cushion.
“I need to use the bathroom anyway.” Lexy paused, her thumb hovering over the green button.
“Should I come with you?
You’re swaying a little, El.” I shook my head, a goofy, loose smile on my face.
“No need.
I’m just tipsy, Lex.
Not drunk.
I can find a toilet by myself.” “Two minutes,” she said, already sliding out of the booth and pressing the phone to her ear as she disappeared through the curtain.
I waited a second, then stood up.
The floor tilted slightly to the left, but I caught myself on the edge of the table.
I smoothed down the black silk gown, adjusted the high slit over my thigh, and parted the silk curtains of the booth.
The corridor outside was darker than the main room, lit only by low, recessed floor lamps that threw long shadows against the black wallpaper.
I walked down the hall, my heels clicking a little less rhythmically than before, my hand occasionally brushing the wall to keep my line straight.
I asked a passing waiter for directions, and he pointed toward a narrow hallway around the corner, past the private VIP lounges.
“Just around the bend, ma’am,” he said.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
I turned the corner, my mind focused on making sure my feet hit the ground evenly, my head spinning just enough to make the black walls blur together.
I rounded the sharp corridor without looking up.
Smack.
It felt like walking directly into a brick wall wrapped in expensive wool.
“Oww,” I gasped, the impact jarring my teeth as my balance failed completely.
My left heel slipped on the polished wood floor, and my body instantly started to tilt backward toward the ground.
Before my hips could hit the floor for the second time tonight, a large, heavy hand shot out of the dark.
An arm… thick, solid, and smelling faintly of cedarwood and iron, caught me right around the center of my waist.
The grip was massive, hooking under my ribs and lifting my entire weight back up until my chest was pressed flat against a broad, hard torso.
“Are you alright, miss?” a deep, rough voice rumbled right above my ear.