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.

Sloane stopped breathing.

The screen of Sloane's phone lit up on the table. The GPS tracking dot blinked red. It aligned perfectly with the invisible rune Elena had just traced on the wood.

Sloane's hands started to shake.

Elena picked up her martini glass. She took a slow sip. The cold liquid burned down her throat, masking the brief flash of golden light that flickered in her dark eyes.

"Go," Elena said.

Sloane snatched her Birkin bag from the chair. Her heels slammed against the hardwood floor, a rapid, violent rhythm that echoed her rage.

Elena set her glass down and followed.

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 fiancé.

Elena stopped in the hallway.

She didn't go in. 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 turned her head. At the end of the corridor was a semi-open terrace. The night wind blew in, catching the bottom of her cheap beige trench coat.

She walked toward the wind.

Heavy velvet curtains separated the terrace from the hallway. They were drawn almost completely shut, leaving only a narrow gap.

Elena looked through the gap.

A tall man stood by the railing. Andrew. Her husband.

His arm was wrapped around a woman's waist. The woman was small. Fragile. She leaned her entire body weight against his chest.

A sharp pain flared in Elena's chest, stealing the air from her lungs.

The woman turned her head.

Kaitlynn.

Elena's fingers gripped her small clutch. She squeezed the leather until her knuckles turned completely white. The joints ached.

Kaitlynn looked up at Andrew. Tears spilled over her eyelashes and rolled down her cheeks. She cried about how lonely she was during her art therapy trip in Europe.

Andrew reached into his pocket. He pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped her tears. His touch was gentle.

Elena moved her foot. She wanted to speak.

"I'll fix it," Andrew said.

His voice was low. Elena froze. Her breathing sped up, the cold air scraping her throat.

Kaitlynn sniffled. "I don't want to ruin your marriage, Andrew. I feel so guilty."

Andrew let out a harsh laugh.

"She's an Appalachian hillbilly, Kaitlynn. She doesn't belong here."

The words hit Elena like a physical blow to the stomach. Bile rose in her throat.

"I only married her to get my grandfather off my back," Andrew continued.

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

Elena's fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. The sharp sting of her own skin breaking grounded her. Two years of cooking his meals, ironing his shirts, and swallowing the insults of his friends.

It was all a joke.

"The lawyers are drafting the divorce papers," Andrew promised, his hand stroking Kaitlynn's hair. "Next week, she'll be out of New York for good."

Kaitlynn threw her arms around his neck. She pressed her body flush against his.

Elena felt nauseous. Her throat closed up.

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

When she opened her eyes, the pain was gone. Only ice remained.

The wind picked up. The heavy velvet curtain flapped loudly against the wall.

Andrew's head snapped toward the gap.

Elena didn't hide. She reached out and grabbed the thick velvet fabric. She ripped the curtain open.

The dim light from the hallway hit her face. She stood there, completely expressionless.

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

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

Andrew adjusted his cuffs. He glared at Elena.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped. "Are you stalking me?"

Elena let out a short, cold laugh.

She looked at his hands, then at Kaitlynn's clinging fingers.

"If you two are going to cheat," Elena said, her voice flat and loud enough to cut through the wind, "you could at least pick a place that doesn't smell like a public restroom."