Page 25 of October
I shook my head. "Wait—what? Join him? What are you talking about?"
She leaned back again, eyes softening just slightly. "You need to talk to your husband."
I stared at her. "I don't understand."
Jeanine's voice dropped, almost a whisper. "I know how you felt last night, but Laura isn't Thomas' mistress."
My mind whirred. "But last night—Jeanine, he let her—"
"I know what you saw," she said, interrupting gently. "But Laura isn't Thomas' mistress. She's James'."
The room tilted around me. My heart slammed in my chest.
"I—what?"
Jeanine's mouth curled into a bitter smile. "Your husband didn't betray you the way you think he did. But he betrayed you all the same. He's at the lawyer's office right now," Jeanine said, her voice low but steady. "I called him. Told him to come talk to you and you need to hear him"
She stepped closer, her gaze fierce, unwavering.
"After that, you do whatever you want. Leave him. Fight him. Forgive him. That choice is yours, and now... you don't have to make it alone. You have me. I'm on your side now, no matter what."
She reached for my hand, held it tight.
"Just remember this," she said, her voice catching. "I married awicked man, October. A man who wore his cruelty like a crown. There's nothing left in him but ambition and rot. He is beyond redemption. But you..."
She paused, her lips trembling with the weight of what she was about to say.
"You married aweak man. A man who spent his life chasing shadows, contorting himself into the shape of someone else's expectations. Every word he spoke, every decision he made—it was all filtered through the lens of a father who never loved him, only molded him. Like clay pressed into the shape of someone else's ambition, he forgot the feel of his own skin. He is broken, yes—but not beyond repair. Because weakness is not wickedness.
I made a mistake, October—God,I made so many.So learn from me, sweetheart."
Then she held my hands ans whispered,
"Break the cycle, my dear. Burn it down if you have to. Be bigger than I dared to be. Be bolder. Beyou.And don't apologize for the space you take up in this world. It's yours. Always was."
Chapter Ten: When Kings Bleed (Thomas)
Two days before the birthday party...
I was at lunch with a client when the first text came in—anonymous, no name, no number, just a message:
"You should come back to the office. Now."
I stared at it, blinking. A joke? Spam? Some weird sales tactic? I glanced at the sender again, just a blank gray circle. No contact info. No clue. My first instinct was to dismiss it. Probably a prank. Or a wrong number. I slid my phone face-down on the crisp white tablecloth and forced a smile, trying to stay lockedinto the conversation. Across from me, Grant Velez was mid-pitch, leaning in, slicing the air with his fork for emphasis, totally locked into his charts and projections. Something about Asia's Q3 recovery and how we were poised to capitalize if we acted before Q2 closed.
I nodded in the right places, but his voice was already fading beneath a low, steady thrum in my chest. A vibration that wasn't coming from the phone anymore, it was deeper than that. Instinct. I took a sip of water. Glanced down at my watch. Then at the phone again, as if it might offer some clarification now that I'd waited.
It didn't. Just that one line glowing against the lock screen. Seven words that shouldn't have meant anything.
"You don't want to miss this."
A flicker of something—unease, maybe—tensed in my spine. I checked the number again. Nothing. Just the words. And suddenly the steak in front of me looked too red, the room too loud. I laughed it off with some muttered line about "corporate drama," dropped my napkin on the table, and walked out fast.
By the time I reached the street, the third message was already waiting:
"She's not who you think she is. Neither is he."
I stopped moving. I stood there on the corner, traffic rumbling past, and let those words settle like stones in my stomach. I told myself this was a joke, that I was overreacting. That the texts were nothing, just someone screwing around. But as I rode the elevator up to the 26th floor, alone, something in the air shifted. The office was still alive with its usual midday rhythm. Phonesrang in the distance, a few people chatted near the kitchenette, the soft hum of printers and the clack of keyboards filling the air like background noise. A group from marketing was gathered around someone's screen, laughing over a video. There was Leonard, the janitor, who was leaning on his mop handle, saw me and gave me a familiar nod.
