He Chose A Fake Heir Over His True Wife

The private hangar at JFK acted like a wind tunnel.

The air stung with the sharp scent of jet fuel and burnt rubber.

I stood in the shadows of the terminal building, hugging my coat tight against the chill.

My jet was waiting.

It was a small Gulfstream, fully paid for by the settlement.

But there was another jet on the tarmac.

The DeLuca jet.

Alex was standing at the bottom of the stairs, barking into his phone.

"Get the best doctors to Como! Now!"

He was flying to Italy.

He was flying to meet the fabricated emergency of his fake pregnant mistress.

Suddenly, he turned.

He saw me.

For a second, suspicion flashed in his dark eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he shouted over the roar of the engines.

He walked toward me.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

If he knew...

If he knew I was leaving forever...

He would drag me back.

He would lock me in the tower.

I forced a smile onto my face.

It was the best performance of my life.

"Seeing off Cousin Sofia," I shouted back, keeping my voice steady.

"She's flying back to Rome."

Alex stopped.

He looked at my bag.

It was small.

Unassuming.

He nodded. He bought it.

He was so consumed by his own drama, he couldn't see the truth standing right in front of him.

"I have to go to the West Coast," he yelled, gesturing vaguely.

"Meeting."

Another lie.

We were standing five feet apart, screaming lies at each other.

"Okay," I said.

"Safe flight."

He checked his Rolex.

He stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.

His lips were cold.

"Back soon," he said.

"Love you."

He turned and ran up the stairs to his jet.

The door sealed shut.

I watched his plane taxi down the runway.

I watched it lift off into the grey sky.

He was chasing a ghost.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

The screen lit up with a message.

Consigliere: Transfer complete. ID active. Have a good life, Ms. Jensen.

I looked at the phone.

I looked at the contact name: Alexander.

I didn't just delete the contact.

That wasn't enough.

I popped the SIM card out of the side.

I snapped the plastic in half.

I walked to a trash can near the terminal entrance.

I threw the phone in.

Without looking back, I walked across the tarmac to my jet.

I climbed the stairs.

The flight attendant smiled at me.

"Welcome aboard, Ms. Jensen."

I sat in the leather seat.

I buckled the belt.

The engines roared to life.

We accelerated.

Faster.

Faster.

The wheels left the ground.

I looked out the window at the shrinking city of New York.

It was a cage of steel and glass.

And I was finally on the outside.