It was a cold winter evening, the kind that seeped into your bones, but Claire Carter had long grown accustomed to it. New York had become her home after she moved here with her husband, James, for his high-profile tech job. His company had gone public, and with Wall Street at their doorstep, relocating to Manhattan seemed like the natural step for his rising career.
Claire had settled well into life in the Big Apple. She came from wealth—her father an oil tycoon, her mother the CEO of a major insurance firm. As their only child, she had been groomed for success, attending the finest Ivy League schools while working on her business degree. Then, she met James.
He was charming, ambitious, and had a way of making her feel like she was the only woman in the world. So, when he proposed, she gave up her dreams of a career and stepped into the role of a devoted wife. For five years, she had made their home a sanctuary, ensuring James had everything he needed to succeed.
Tonight was supposed to be special— their fifth anniversary. Claire hummed softly as she stood in the kitchen, chopping carrots, the rich aroma of a home-cooked meal filling their luxurious Upper East Side apartment. She had planned everything perfectly: filet mignon, red wine, and even the dress James loved most on her.
Then came the text messages.
Ping. Ping.
She paused, wiping her hands on her apron before picking up her phone. A small smile graced her lips when she saw James's name. But as her eyes scanned the screen, her smile vanished.
"Running late."
"Don't wait up."
Claire blinked, rereading the messages as if they would somehow change.
Don't wait up?
Her chest tightened. He had been coming home late more often lately, but she never questioned it. After all, he provided her with everything she could ever want. A beautiful home, luxury, security. She had convinced herself that was enough.
But not tonight.
Not on their anniversary.
A sudden idea struck her—if James couldn't come home for dinner, then she would bring dinner to him. Excitement surged through her as she packed up the food, slipped into her expensive fur coat, and hailed a cab to his office.
The ride was short, the city lights casting a glow against the snow-dusted streets. Claire handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill, barely noticing his gratitude as she stepped out into the crisp air.
Inside the towering office building, the night security guard greeted her with a warm smile.
"Good evening, Mrs. Claire."
"Good evening, Freddy," she replied. "How's the wife and kids?"
"They're great. I'll tell them you said hello."
"Please do."
"Want me to call up and let him know you're coming?" Freddy asked.
"No, it's a surprise," she said with a grin.
Claire made her way to the elevator, pressing the button for the 46th floor. The hum of the ascending lift filled the silence, anticipation bubbling in her chest. James will be so surprised, she thought. Maybe even touched.
As the doors slid open, Claire stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Something felt… off. The receptionist's desk was empty. Strange—James never let his secretary leave early. Shrugging it off, she walked toward his corner office, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
Then she heard it.
The rhythmic creak of a chair. Muffled moans. A sharp gasp.
Claire's stomach twisted.
With a trembling hand, she pushed open the office door.
And her world shattered.
James was there—half-dressed, his expensive slacks pooled at his ankles—while his secretary was bent over his desk, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her.
The container of food slipped from Claire's grasp, crashing onto the floor. The sound startled them, their heads snapping toward her.
James's face twisted in irritation rather than guilt.
"Claire?! What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped. "I told you I'd be home late!"
Claire's breath hitched, her body frozen in place. "I—I wanted to surprise you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roaring in her ears.
James groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Claire. You couldn't take a hint?"
Her heart clenched. "A hint?"
His secretary, still adjusting her skirt, scoffed.
James sighed, exasperated. "Look, let's be honest. You suck in bed. You're vanilla, boring. We always do the same three positions, Claire. Did you really not see this coming?"
His words cut deeper than any knife. The pain was suffocating, a physical weight crushing her chest.
Claire felt cold all over. Not from the winter air but from betrayal. Humiliation.
She didn't say another word. She turned on her heels and ran.
Tears blurred her vision as she sprinted down the hallway, her heels clacking against the floor. She just needed to get out. Away from him. Away from this nightmare.
She reached the elevator, slamming the button frantically. The doors slid open, but before she could step inside, she crashed into someone.
A firm, warm hand steadied her.
Claire looked up, breath hitching.
The woman standing before her was a stunning—tall with chestnut-colored hair, piercing green eyes, and a striking white pantsuit that clung to her curves. There was an air of power around her, a confidence that was almost intoxicating.
"I'm so sorry," Claire stammered, still sobbing. "I—I wasn't looking—"
The woman tilted her head, her voice a rich, husky alto. "It's okay. I heard the commotion and came to see what was going on."
She extended a hand. "Here, let me help you up."
Claire hesitated before taking it, warmth spreading through her fingers at the unexpected touch.
"So," the woman asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. "Want to tell me why a gorgeous woman like you is crying her eyes out this late at night?"
Gorgeous?
Claire had always been into men, but something about this woman's gaze made her stomach flutter. It was… different.
"My husband," she whispered. "I caught him cheating. With his secretary."
The woman let out a sharp laugh. "Wow. People actually do that? How cliché."
Claire gave a watery chuckle despite herself.
The woman smirked. "Well, lucky for you, I happen to be a divorce attorney. And I'm going to help you take that bastard for everything he's got."
Claire blinked up at her. "You're a lawyer?"
The woman grinned, her green eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Morgan Pierce at your service. And trust me, sweetheart—this is going to be fun."