Chapter 2 - THE COLD FRAME IN THE MASTER SUITE
Through the narrow slit of the partially open bedroom door, the light of a mid-afternoon sun fell across the hardwood floor. Audrey stood motionless, her heartbeat a dull, heavy thud against her ribs.
Inside the room she had shared with Derek for nearly six years, a woman wrapped in one of Derek's monogrammed silk bathrobes sat perched on the edge of their king-sized bed. Her blonde hair was pinned up loosely, and she was swirling a glass of amber whiskey with an air of complete, unbothered ownership.
Derek stood by the walk-in closet, sliding his arms into a fresh linen shirt. He looked relaxed—lighter than he had looked in months. The anxious tension he had carried all through Audrey’s pregnancy had vanished, replaced by the careless grin of a man who thought he had successfully cheated the universe.
“I’m telling you, Gloria, she’s still stuck at the hospital signing discharge paperwork,” Derek laughed, buttoning his cuffs. “The nurses there move slower than glaciers. We’ve got at least another two hours before she even thinks about catching a rideshare.”
Gloria took a slow sip of the whiskey, her red lips curling into a smug smile. “And what if she calls again? That’s seventeen times your phone has vibrated against the nightstand today, Derek. Aren’t you even a little bit worried she’ll figure it out?”
Derek scoffed, tossing his discarded shirt onto the floor. “Let her call. Her phone battery dies if she looks at it wrong anyway. Besides, once she gets here, she’ll be too exhausted with the baby to ask questions. I’ll tell her I got caught up with a client emergency at the firm. She always believes me. She’s too soft-hearted to look for trouble.”
Audrey felt a cold wave wash over her skin, starting from the crown of her head and settling deep into her bones.
Too soft-hearted.
That was what he called the six years she had spent standing behind him, managing his schedule, hosting his demanding corporate clients, and swallowing her own ambitions while he climbed the ladder at Halston & Myers. That was what he called the woman who had spent thirty-six hours in active labor while he sat in a hospital cafeteria playing games on his phone before inventing an excuse to leave early on day two.
Maisie shifted against her chest, letting out a tiny, contented sigh in her sleep. The sound pierced through the fog of Audrey’s shock, anchoring her instantly.
She didn't cry. She didn't slam the door open to scream or throw things. A strange, glacial clarity took hold of her mind.
Audrey shifted the baby securely, raised her hand, and gave the heavy wooden bedroom door a firm, deliberate push.
The door swung wide open, groaning softly on its brass hinges.
Derek froze mid-sentence, his fingers hovering over his collar button. Gloria’s whiskey glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
For three long seconds, the bedroom was entirely silent. The only sound was the faint ticking of the antique mantel clock near the window.
Derek’s face drained of color. The relaxed, confident smirk melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, deer-in-the-headlights terror. He looked from Audrey’s pale, composed face down to the beige baby carrier strapped across her chest.
“Audrey,” Derek choked out, taking an involuntary step backward. “You... you’re home early. The hospital said—we thought you weren't leaving until the evening.”
Audrey didn’t shout. Her voice, when it came, was terrifyingly quiet, carrying an icy stillness that made Gloria shrink back against the pillows.
“The hospital discharged me, Derek,” Audrey said, stepping fully into the room. Her eyes swept over the rumpled sheets, the empty whiskey bottle on the nightstand, and the unfamiliar perfume bottle sitting beside her own silver hairbrush. “And seventeen missed calls tend to clear up a person's schedule.”
Derek scrambled for words, his hands gesturing wildly. “Wait. Audrey, baby, let me explain. This isn't—Gloria is just an associate from the Richmond office. We were reviewing corporate files, and—and she spilled wine on her blouse, so I offered her a temporary change of clothes—it's completely innocent!”
Gloria, recovering her composure faster than Derek, swung her legs over the side of the bed. She didn't look remotely apologetic. Instead, she smoothed down the silk robe and gave Audrey a cold, appraising look from head to toe.
“He’s right, you know,” Gloria said, her voice dripping with condescension. “You really shouldn't jump to conclusions, especially when you’ve just had a baby and your hormones must be all over the place. Derek talks about you all the time. He told me how fragile you’ve been lately.”
Audrey turned her gaze slowly toward Gloria. She didn't raise her voice, but the weight in her eyes made Gloria’s smug smile falter.
“You’re wearing my husband’s grandfather’s monogrammed silk robe,” Audrey said quietly. “And you’re drinking twenty-year-old scotch from crystal decanters that my father gave us for our wedding. Unless corporate files require skin-to-skin contact in my bed, I suggest you grab your heels and walk out of this house before I lose whatever patience I have left.”
Derek stepped between them, his face flushing with a mixture of panic and rising anger. “Audrey, don't talk to Gloria like that! You’re making a scene over nothing. Just go downstairs and unpack your bags. We’ll talk about this later tonight after Gloria leaves.”
After Gloria leaves.
As if Audrey were an inconvenient guest in her own home.
Before Audrey could answer, heavy footsteps echoed from the downstairs hallway, followed by the sound of the front door clicking shut.
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“Derek? Are you children decent up there?” a sharp, patrician voice called up the stairs. “The gate buzzer was broken again, so I let myself in with the spare key. Honestly, this neighborhood is going downhill.”
Eleanor Halston—Derek’s mother—appeared at the top of the stairs, her designer handbag over her arm, wearing an expression of supreme annoyance that vanished the instant she saw Audrey standing in the doorway with a newborn against her chest.
