Chapter 2 - The Mask of Devotion
The next forty-eight hours required an acting performance that would have won an Academy Award. Walking through the front door of our Victorian home in Lincoln Park on Thursday evening felt like stepping onto a minefield. The scent of roasted garlic filled the foyer. Michael was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, uncorking a vintage cabernet.
""Carrie! You're working too late, sweetheart,"" he called out cheerfully, walking over to press a warm kiss against my cheek. I felt the familiar brush of his cologne—sandalwood and bergamot. A scent I had once associated with safety, but now only smelled like deceit. ""You're stressing yourself over these boutique hotel deadlines. Let the project managers handle it. That's why we pay them.""
""Just wrapping up loose ends before the weekend,"" I replied, managing a tired, convincing smile as I set my briefcase on the granite counter. ""You're cooking?""
""Osso buco. Your favorite,"" he beamed, turning back to the stove. ""We only celebrate twenty years once, Carrie. I wanted to start spoiling you early. Did you pick out a dress for Saturday? Denise told me you've been buried in your office all week. I want my wife to outshine everyone in the room.""
I watched his hands. Steady. Graceful. The hands of a man who could sleep peacefully after wiring company reserves to a woman he was bedding behind my back.
""I bought something new,"" I said, leaning against the counter. ""Navy silk. Simple. Professional.""
""You always look stunning in navy,"" he said, turning to hand me a glass of wine. He clinked his glass against mine. ""To twenty years of partnership, Carrie. Through thick and thin. We built an empire, didn't we?""
""We certainly built something,"" I murmured, taking a micro-sip without letting the alcohol pass my throat. ""Sophie called earlier. She’s driving down from Madison tomorrow afternoon. She said you promised to help her with her tuition balance before the semester starts.""
A tiny flicker of annoyance passed over Michael's brow, gone so fast an untrained observer would have missed it. ""Of course. Tell her not to worry. Cash flow has been a little tangled with the Milwaukee vendors, but I’ll clear the bursar’s check by Monday.""
He had two hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars of company funds sitting in an offshore shell, but he was stalling on his own daughter's college tuition. The sheer disgust in my throat was acid, but I swallowed it down. Revenge, my father used to tell me, is like concrete: if you pour it while it’s hot, it cracks. You have to let it cure cold.
""Don't work too hard tonight, Michael,"" I said softly, stepping back from the kitchen. ""You have a big presentation to prepare for.""
""Just an anniversary toast, honey,"" he laughed, turning back to stir the sauce. ""I don't need notes to tell our friends how much I love you.""
I walked up the carpeted stairs to our bedroom, closed the master bathroom door, and turned on the shower water full blast to mask any sound. Standing in front of the vanity mirror, I gripped the edges of the porcelain sink until my knuckles turned white. I didn't shed a tear. The tears had run dry two days ago when I saw Vanessa Cole's name beside his on a flight itinerary to St. Thomas.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Rebecca: Bylaw resolution drafted. Emergency board meeting protocol logged for 9:30 AM Saturday morning via unanimous consent of majority equity. The locks will be changed by noon. The paper is signed, Caroline. He is a dead man walking.
May you like
I texted back a single word: Good.
I stepped into the steaming water, scrubbing my skin as if I could wash away twenty years of Michael's calculated touch. He thought he was the master chess player, maneuvering pieces across a board I couldn't see. He had forgotten that my father didn't just teach me how to read blueprints. He taught me that when a support pillar is rotten, you don't paint over it. You demolish it before the whole roof collapses on your head.
