Too Late For Regret: The Ex-Wife's Escape

The taxi pulled up to a place called "Oasis Day Spa" in Brooklyn. The neon sign was half-broken, flickering erratically. It was an ironic, pathetic contrast to the exclusive Fifth Avenue clubs she used to frequent.

Eloise used the last of her cash to pay for the minimum stay, ignoring the suspicious stare from the front desk clerk as she took a locker key and a thin towel.

She walked into the steam-filled public bathhouse. The thick vapor blurred the mirrors, temporarily blurring her past and future as well.

She stood under the shower, letting the scalding water run over her body, as if it could scour away every trace of "Mrs. James" from beneath her skin.

She closed her eyes, and the courtroom from three years ago flooded her mind. Carter, in his perfectly tailored suit, standing calmly at the witness stand. He was telling the judge how he'd found a knife in their bedroom, a knife matching the model of the murder weapon.

The knife was a vintage letter opener, a gift from her late father. Carter knew that.

But he didn't say it.

A sharp pang seized her chest. She scrubbed her skin harder, until it was red and raw.

After the shower, she changed into the spa's loose cotton robe and found a quiet lounge area. A few other tired travelers and night-shift workers were dozing on recliners.

She chose the most secluded corner and sat down. From her tracksuit pocket, she pulled out a pen and a thin notepad she'd smuggled from the prison library. They were her most valuable assets now.

On a fresh page, she wrote two words:

1. Severance.

2. Exoneration.

Under "Severance," she wrote "Carter James," then forcefully scratched out the name with the tip of her pen.

Under "Exoneration," she began to recall every detail related to the death of Kinsley Serrano. Kinsley, once her best friend, the woman Carter had called his "true love" in court.

Eloise remembered the day before the incident. Kinsley had told her, with a secretive smile, that she'd found a way to make Carter fall completely in love with her. She wouldn't say how.

She remembered the look in Kinsley's eyes—a mixture of excitement and jealousy. It wasn't the look of a friend. It was the look of a rival.

At the time, she had ignored these details. Now, they screamed at her. But she had no proof.

She needed money. A new identity. A way to access the files from her case. It all felt impossible.

A cleaner pushed a cart past, accidentally bumping her chair and spilling some water. The woman apologized profusely.

Eloise looked at the uniformed woman, head bowed in apology, and an idea struck her. The most dangerous place is the safest place. The most insignificant identity is the best disguise.

She wrote a third item in her thin notepad: Find a job. Any job.

Meanwhile, in a skyscraper in Manhattan, the atmosphere in Carter James's office was suffocating.

"Sir, we lost her," Gary White reported, his voice low. "She went into a spa in Brooklyn, but our man went in and couldn't find her."

Carter's face was a thundercloud. He pulled up the external security footage of the spa, saw Eloise walk in, and then... nothing.

He couldn't understand it. Why would she go to a place like that? She had almost no money. What was she planning? The complete loss of control was making him furious.

He picked up his phone to call his grandmother, then put it down. He refused to admit he couldn't even keep track of one woman fresh out of prison.

He dialed another number. "Ethan, I need you to check all of Eloise Knight's bank accounts and credit cards. And that trust fund her mother left her."

Back at the spa, Eloise fell asleep on the recliner. For the first time in three years, she didn't wake up from a nightmare.

When she woke, it was morning. She felt a clarity she hadn't experienced in years.

She walked to the public computer, paid a small fee, and went online. She didn't search her own name; that would only bring up a flood of "murderer" headlines.

She opened a job search website. Her eyes scanned past the glamorous positions and scrolled directly to the bottom, to the jobs with the lowest requirements: waitress, dishwasher, cleaner.

Her gaze stopped on one ad: "The Elysian Club. Hiring Night Cleaning Staff. Competitive Pay."

The Elysian Club. The most exclusive private club in New York. A playground for the rich and powerful. A place Carter and his friends went to all the time.

A cold smile touched Eloise's lips. She clicked "Apply," using a burner email and a fake name.

Jane Doe.