The Broken Wife's Ultimate Revenge

Juliana Dalton sat at the edge of the velvet vanity stool in the master bedroom of her Manhattan penthouse. Her fingers trembled slightly as she fastened the final pearl button of her white silk blouse. The fabric felt like ice against her skin.

Her phone buzzed against the marble countertop. The harsh vibration rattled her makeup brushes.

She glanced at the screen. A text from her best friend, Ashly Cook.

An image loaded.

Juliana's stomach plummeted. The air vanished from her lungs.

The photo was grainy, taken from a distance at JFK's private terminal. But the woman stepping out of the black SUV was unmistakable. Corrin Henderson. She was holding a Birkin bag, her blonde hair catching the morning light.

Corrin was back.

Juliana's fingernails dug into her palms. The sharp pain grounded her.

The heavy oak door of the master bedroom swung open.

Adelbert Landry walked in. He brought the crisp autumn chill of Manhattan with him.

He didn't look at her. He never looked at her.

He walked straight toward the walk-in closet. His fingers tore at the knot of his silk tie.

Juliana inhaled. Her chest tightened.

Underneath the scent of the cold wind, she smelled it. A heavy, expensive niche perfume. Notes of vanilla and dark amber.

It wasn't hers. It was the exact scent Corrin used to wear.

Juliana stood up. Her knees felt weak.

"Where were you last night?"

Her voice shook. She hated how weak it sounded.

Adelbert stopped. He dropped the tie onto a leather chair. He turned around slowly.

His dark eyes locked onto hers. They were empty. Cold. He looked at her like she was a piece of trash on his expensive rug.

"Do you really think you have the right to question my schedule?"

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

Juliana bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.

"Corrin is back in New York."

Adelbert's jaw clenched. The muscle ticked under his skin.

He closed the distance between them in three long strides. He backed her up until her spine hit the edge of the marble vanity.

He slammed both hands onto the counter, trapping her in his shadow. The scent of vanilla and amber suffocated her.

"Don't you ever say her name."

His voice was a low, dangerous whisper.

"You don't get to speak about her. Not after what you did. Not with your history."

Juliana's face drained of color. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Adelbert, those photos from college were fake. I told you. I never signed a Sugar Baby Arrangement. Corrin set me up-"

His hand shot out. His fingers gripped her chin, squeezing hard. He forced her to look up at him.

"Stop lying."

His breath fanned over her face.

"I know exactly what you are, Juliana. You sold your body to climb into my world. You have no bottom line. You are dirty."

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Her throat burned.

"If you ever try to touch Corrin, or if you don't play your part as the perfect, quiet wife," Adelbert warned, his grip tightening, "I will ruin you. I will make sure you are nothing in this city."

He let go of her chin. He stepped back.

He pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers. Like touching her had contaminated him.

He tossed the handkerchief into the trash can. He turned and walked out of the bedroom.

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed in the massive room.

Juliana's legs gave out. She collapsed onto the vanity stool.

She stared at her pale reflection in the mirror. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Her lungs burned.

She grabbed her concealer. She covered the red marks on his fingers left on her chin. She had to go to work.

The fluorescent lights in the top-floor boardroom of Landry Corporation blinded her.

Juliana stood at the head of the long mahogany table. The projector screen behind her displayed the quarterly financial reports.

Her head was spinning. The scent of Adelbert's clothes-the vanilla and amber-was stuck in her nose. His words echoed in her skull.

You are dirty.

Her vision blurred. The numbers on the screen turned into black, crawling ants.

"As you can see from the Q3 margins..."

Her voice cracked. Her hand shook violently.

The laser pointer slipped from her sweaty fingers. It hit the carpet with a dull thud.

The executives around the table stopped typing. They exchanged confused whispers.

Juliana tried to grab the edge of the table. Her fingers missed.

A wave of dark nausea hit her stomach. The room tilted sideways.

Her eyes rolled back. She fell forward into the empty air.

Right before her face hit the floor, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. They caught her mid-fall.