w who it was. My assistant, Maya, glanced up from her own desk, her expression a mix of concern and pity. I ignored her and

ain. A persistent, demanding rhythm

n true exhaustion, I picked it up. The name 'Mark' glo

d over the background noise of a party. "You

ted over two years of marriage. "Losing what, Mark?

The Onyx, saying he wants to fly. Sara

raded around as if our marriage certificate was a piece of scrap paper. Th

t the numbers. She had been a proud woman her whole life. The marriage to Ethan, the tech mogul son of an old family friend, was her last desperate plan. It was a transaction. My life f

voice betraying nothing of the

e Mark could sa

s here," Maya said softly, alread

of an afternoon." My movements were efficient, wasting no energy. I was an architect, I built things. I also ma

ike a physical force the moment I stepped out of my car. Paparazzi were already gathered at the e

true your husband

our marriage

ays worked. Inside, the scene was worse. The party was in full swing, but a current of tens

nds, his face slick with sweat. "Mrs. Hayes, thank God. He

re, standing on the ledge of the roof, his arms spread wide. He was laughing, his suit jacket gone, his ti

manic. "Look who it is! My beautiful, cold-h

reporters were probably on their way up. His recklessness wasn't just

ook at Sarah. I didn' t look at the dizzying drop below. I looked righ

idn

from the ledge.

divorce me? Take half of my money

he wind. "You have sixty seconds to get him off that ledge, or the photos of you leaving your married

face we

ack straight, my heart pounding a frantic, painful rhythm against