The Divorced Psychic's Spectacular Comeback

Elena pressed her index finger against the cardboard.

The Tower.

The heavy oak table vibrated, a low hum that rattled the crystal ashtray.

The woman across from her-a nervous, well-dressed client named Sloane who had booked this session three days ago-leaned forward, her knuckles white against the edge of the table.

"Did you find him?" Sloane's voice cracked. "It's been over two weeks. He won't answer my calls. His office says he's on a business trip, but his assistant won't give me any details. Please, I just need to know where he is."

Elena's dark eyes flickered with a brief flash of gold. The rune she had traced on the wood glowed faintly, then faded. The GPS dot on Sloane's phone blinked red on the table between them, aligning perfectly with a location in the heart of the city's nightlife district.

"The Obsidian club," Elena said, her voice flat. "VIP section. Room V03."

Sloane stared at the blinking dot, her face cycling through relief, confusion, and then a cold, dawning horror. "That's... that's the club his ex-girlfriend works at."

Elena said nothing. She picked up her martini glass and took a slow sip. The cold liquid burned down her throat, masking the flicker of golden light receding from her eyes. She had only taken this high-paying divination order because the fee was generous, and she had personally agreed to handle any messy spiritual aftermath.

Sloane stood up abruptly, grabbing her Birkin bag from the chair. Then she stopped, her hands shaking.

"Miss Elena... I know this isn't part of the arrangement, but..." Sloane swallowed hard, her bravado crumbling. "Could you come with me? Please? I don't think I can face him alone. What if he's with someone? What if-"

Elena set her glass down with a soft clink. "That's not what I do."

"I'll pay double. Triple. Whatever you want." Sloane's eyes were desperate, rimmed with the kind of raw panic Elena had seen a hundred times before. "I just need someone there. Anyone. Please."

Elena looked at her for a long moment. The Tower card still lay face-up on the table between them. Ruin. Upheaval. The end of a cycle.

"Fine," Elena said. "Let's go."

Sloane practically ran toward the door. Elena followed at a steady pace, pulling out her phone as she walked.

She typed a message to Andrew.

Are you home for dinner tonight?

She hit send. The message showed delivered. She waited. Nothing.

She scrolled up through their chat history. The last message Andrew had sent her was over a month ago. A single word: Busy. Before that, another month of silence. Before that, two words: Don't wait.

She hadn't heard his voice in six weeks. Hadn't seen his face in longer. He was always in meetings, on business trips, tied up with urgent corporate matters that apparently didn't allow for a thirty-second phone call to his wife.

Elena stared at the screen for a moment longer, then slipped the phone back into her clutch. Her face revealed nothing. This was normal now. She had stopped expecting anything different.

The brass doors of The Obsidian club were heavy. The bass from the music inside hit Elena's chest the second they pulled them open.

The club manager stepped in front of them. He opened his mouth to ask for a reservation.

Sloane shoved a black American Express card directly into his chest.

The manager's annoyed expression vanished. He plastered on a fake smile and stepped aside.

They walked down the dark corridor. Neon laser lights sliced through the smoke, flashing across Elena's pale face. She hated this place. The air smelled like cheap sweat and expensive mistakes.

Sloane ran. She didn't care about the music or the crowd. She headed straight for the VIP section.

Elena walked behind her, her pace steady.

Sloane hit the door of room V03 with both hands. It crashed open. A woman screamed inside. Sloane lunged forward, her hands flying toward her cheating husband, colliding with the other woman in a blur of flying hair and shattering glassware.

Elena stopped in the hallway.

She didn't go into room V03. Instead, her dark eyes caught movement through the half-open double doors of the adjacent luxury suite, room V04. A different scent cut through the smell of alcohol and smoke.

Cedar and bergamot.

Andrew's cologne.

Elena's stomach tightened. The muscles in her abdomen contracted so hard it hurt.

She walked toward the half-open door of room V04 and looked inside.

A tall man sat on the center of the plush leather sofa. Andrew. Her husband.

Sitting across his lap was a woman in a shimmering designer dress. Kaitlynn. Her fake, adopted sister.

Under the blinding neon lights, Kaitlynn leaned back with a seductive, triumphant smirk, holding a mouthful of expensive red wine between her lips. Andrew leaned down, pressing his mouth directly against hers, feeding her the wine mouth-to-mouth as dark liquid dripped down their chins.

The room erupted into a roar of raucous cheers and vulgar whistling from Andrew's wealthy inner circle.

"Damn, Andrew! That's how a real couple drinks!" one of his rich friends shouted, raising his glass high.

"Seriously, thank god Kaitlynn is back from Europe!" another girl sneered loudly over the music. "Why on earth would anyone care about that Appalachian hillbilly you married? So what if Elena is the biological Frank family daughter who grew up in some dirty mountain shack? Kaitlynn is the one who was raised in the mansion and pampered like a true high-society princess!"

"Exactly!" a man laughed. "Just because that mountain rat shares blood with the family doesn't mean she belongs here. She actually thought she could steal Andrew right out from under Kaitlynn's nose just by claiming her birthright? What a desperate joke!"

The words hit Elena like a physical blow to the stomach. Her entire body shook with violent, freezing rage outside the door.

She gripped her small leather clutch so hard her knuckles turned completely white, the joints aching in protest. They dared to say she stole him? Two years ago, when the Frank family found her and brought her back from the mountains, it was Andrew who had pursued her relentlessly, kneeling in the rain and begging to marry her just to secure his grandfather's blessing and inheritance!

For two entire years, she had buried her true identity, cooking his meals from scratch, ironing his expensive shirts, and silently swallowing the daily, venomous insults of his elite friends just to be a devoted, loving homemaker.

Yet the exact moment Kaitlynn-the shameless thief who had switched lives with her at birth, stolen her wealthy parents' love, and robbed her of twenty years of luxury-returned from her fake art trip abroad, Andrew was ready to throw Elena into the gutter.

Inside the room, Kaitlynn pulled back from Andrew's lips, giggling softly as tears of fake innocence welled in her eyes. "Andrew, stop," she pouted, resting her head against his chest. "I feel so guilty. I don't want to ruin your marriage with my poor sister. She's suffered enough in the mountains."

Andrew let out a harsh, cruel laugh, wiping the wine from Kaitlynn's chin with a gentle silk handkerchief.

"She's an Appalachian hillbilly, Kaitlynn," Andrew said coldly, his voice slicing straight into Elena's chest. "She's dirty, uneducated, and completely out of her league. She doesn't belong in our world."

Kaitlynn buried her face in his shirt. Elena clearly saw the corner of Kaitlynn's mouth twitch upward into a vicious, mocking smirk.

"I only married her to get my grandfather off my back and secure my shares," Andrew promised, his hand stroking Kaitlynn's hair. "The lawyers are drafting the divorce papers right now. Next week, that useless hillbilly will be kicked out of New York for good, and you'll get the place you rightly deserve."

Elena felt nauseous. Her throat closed up with pure, suffocating disgust.

She closed her eyes. She forced air into her lungs. One breath. Two breaths.

When she opened her eyes, the pain and the years of foolish devotion were completely gone. Only absolute ice remained.

Without a shred of hesitation, Elena lifted her foot and kicked the heavy double doors of room V04 completely open with a deafening crash.

The dim light from the hallway hit her pale face. She stood there, completely expressionless, her aura suddenly expanding like a freezing winter storm.

Andrew dropped his arm from Kaitlynn's waist. Panic flashed in his eyes for a fraction of a second. Then, his jaw clenched, and the panic morphed into deep, arrogant annoyance.

Kaitlynn gasped. She shrank behind Andrew, her hands gripping the fabric of his suit jacket like a terrified, helpless child. But her eyes, staring at Elena from behind his shoulder, were full of venomous defiance.

Andrew adjusted his cuffs and glared at Elena with pure disgust.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped loudly. "Are you stalking me like some psychotic freak?"

Elena let out a short, cold laugh.

She looked at his lips stained with red wine, then at Kaitlynn's clinging, manicured fingers.

"If you two parasites are going to cheat and swap spit," Elena said, her voice flat and loud enough to cut through the entire club, "you could at least pick a room that doesn't smell like a cheap public restroom."