LOVED BY MY EX HUSBAND

Christen Craft hurried to the St. Regis Hotel, where her husband Brendon Jimenez's company was hosting its annual charity gala. She had worked overtime until half an hour ago, slogging through a disastrous contract. She had caught three fatal clauses in it and saved her husband from a potential settlement that could have reached eight figures.

She couldn't wait to tell him in person. But she scanned the ballroom twice and didn't spot Brendon's navy suit. She asked several company employees she knew, and finally a young woman from the branding department told her she had seen Brendon head upstairs a few minutes ago, maybe to take a break.

Unlike the bustle on the first floor, the second floor was silent. Christen walked past closed door after closed door. Her mind was still rehearsing what she would say to her husband. Then she stopped, because she heard a familiar voice coming from room 214.

The door was ajar. The laughter slipping through the crack was her friend Kaelynn Hudson's. Breathless. Wet. She knew Kaelynn was at the gala tonight, but she had never heard that voice sound like this in the three years she had known her.

Christen pushed the door open gently, thinking she would say hello to her friend if she was resting inside. The greeting was on her lips, but it never came out.

What she saw firstly was a burgundy silk dress sprawled across the floor. Kaelynn's dress. The one she had texted Christen a photo of that afternoon, saying how much she wished she could come to the gala. Then Christen saw the watch. Brendon's Rolex Cosmograph, limited edition, the one she had saved up four months' salary to buy for him. Light slid across its face as his hand moved, sliding up the bare curve of Kaelynn's spine. Slow. Practiced. Like he had done it a hundred times before.

"You know, you're really a lot more interesting than that law school nerd I married." Brendon's voice. Low. Warm. Satisfied.

"Am I?" Kaelynn giggled. "You poor thing. Let me make it up to you."

That law school nerd.

Christen stumbled backward two steps.

The contract pages slipped out of her coat pocket. The pages she had carried across half the city to show him. Half an hour ago, she had found the loopholes in that contract and thought she was the smartest person in New York. And her husband was here, betraying her with her best friend, calling her a nerd.

What rushed into her mind faster than anger was the image of herself grinning at her reflection in the taxi window just moments ago. The scenes she had played over and over in her head, how Brendon would look at her, and the celebratory hug she had pictured.

Then the anger came. It was so intense that she had to lock her knees to stay upright. Her nails dug into her palms, almost breaking the skin. She wanted to kick the door open, seize Kaelynn by the hair, and drag her off the rug. She wanted Brendon to kneel in front of her, trembling, and plead for her forgiveness.

But in the end, she did none of those things. Her pride and her dignity would not let her become a screaming mess in some cheap soap opera.

She memorized the room number. She memorized every word he said. She let them sink deep, into the place where she kept all old scores. Then she bent down to pick up the contract, turned, and walked toward the stairs. She told herself she had simply walked into the wrong room. What she needed now was a drink.

Downstairs, at the VIP bar, she ordered a dry martini. Gin dissolving into vermouth. One glass. Two glasses. Her mouth was dry, her hands shaking so badly she needed both to hold the glass.