Sloane Mercer.

My cousin. My maid of honor. The girl who used to sleep in my bed every summer at the lake house.

On the screen, she smoothed her lipstick with her pinky and smiled at Damian.

"You're staring," she said. The camera picked up her voice, tinny but clear.

"You're worth staring at."

"Liar. You say that to her too."

Damian laughed. "I don't say anything to her anymore."

I couldn't breathe. Coffee soaked into the rug under my desk, and I didn't move to clean it.

Sloane leaned across the console and walked her fingers up his thigh. "How long do we have?"

"Twenty minutes."

"A real one this time? No call?"

"Shut up, Sloane."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed her head down into his lap. She went easily. Like she'd done it before.

I heard his zipper.

"Fuck," Damian groaned, his head dropping back against the seat. "Yeah. Take all of it. Fuck, Sloane, your mouth."

Her head bobbed in his lap. Wet sounds filled the car. His hand stayed knotted in her hair, shoving her down, holding her there.

"Deeper. Don't you fucking stop."

She made a choked noise. He only pushed harder.

His other hand slid under her open coat. He yanked her blouse aside and squeezed her breast, rough, kneading it through the lace, then shoved the cup down and pinched her nipple until she whimpered around him.

"That's it," he panted. "That's my good girl. You love sucking my cock, don't you? Better than she ever did."

I slammed the laptop shut.

The room went silent. My hands lay flat on the lid, pressing down, like the thing inside might crawl out.

...

I don't remember the rest of the day.

I picked up Noah at three. He told me about a worm on the playground. I said "wow" in the right places.

At seven, he was at the kitchen table doing spelling words. Damian had texted. *Running late. Don't wait up.*

Of course.

I carried my laptop to the bedroom and closed the door. I needed the file. I needed to save it before the cloud wiped the clip.

I hit play.

Sloane's face. Damian's hand in her hair. *Better than she ever did.*

My stomach rolled.

I made it to the bathroom with a second to spare. I hit my knees on the tile and threw up everything — lunch I didn't remember eating, coffee, bile. My throat burned. My eyes streamed.

Knock knock knock.

"Mom?" Noah's voice, small and scared through the door. "Mom, are you okay?"

I gripped the toilet seat. "I'm fine, bug."

"You don't sound fine. You sound like when I had the flu."

"I just ate something bad."

The doorknob rattled. "Are you sick? Should I call Dad?"

"No!"

It came out too sharp. On the other side of the door, he went quiet.

I pushed myself up. My legs shook. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my mouth, scrubbing until my lips stung.

"Noah, baby," I said, softer. "Don't call Dad. He's busy. I promise I'm okay."

"Can I come in?"

"One second."

I lifted my head and caught myself in the mirror.

A stranger stared back. Gray skin. Red, swollen eyes. A ghost wearing my sweater.

I practiced a smile. It looked like a crack in a plate.

I tried again. Better.

I opened the door. Noah stood there clutching his spelling sheet, his lower lip wobbling.

"See?" I knelt and fixed his collar. "All better."

He squinted at me. "Your face is white."

"That's just the bathroom light. It makes everybody look like a vampire."

He giggled. A little. "You're not a vampire."

"Want to bet?" I bared my teeth and tickled his ribs.

He shrieked and ran for the kitchen. I stayed on my knees in the doorway until the laughing stopped echoing.

...

Back in the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed with the laptop on my knees.

And suddenly I was back in April.

Grandma's eightieth birthday. Our apartment, full of relatives. Sloane had offered to handle the risotto.

"Go sit, Ellie," she'd said, shooing me out of the kitchen. "You're the hostess. Let me spoil you."

Damian had gone in after her to "grab more wine."

He was gone twelve minutes. I know, because the risotto timer went off and nobody answered it.

When he walked back into the living room, he had no wine. His lips were pink, almost swollen.

"Did you burn your mouth?" I'd asked, laughing.

"Tasted the sauce," he'd said. "Hot."

Sloane came out a minute later with the pot. Her ponytail sat crooked, strands pulled loose at the back.

"That stove's a nightmare," she'd said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm a mess."

And I'd hugged her. I had actually hugged her and thanked her for cooking.

My fingers curled into the duvet.

Twelve minutes. Pink lips. Crooked ponytail.

I'd seen it all. I just hadn't let myself look.

I opened the app. Downloaded the clip. Saved it to my laptop, then a flash drive, then an email account Damian didn't know existed. I labeled the file *Harlow St. — Revisions 4.*

Then I picked up my phone.

The name I scrolled to belonged to Theo Lindqvist. Family law. Tough as rebar. He'd handled my friend Dana's divorce and left her ex with nothing but his golf clubs.

He picked up on the second ring. "Elara Vale. It's been a while."

"I need a lawyer, Theo."

A pause. "For what?"

"I'm divorcing my husband."

"Damian Vale." He let out a low whistle. "That's not a divorce. That's a war. You understand who you're going up against?"

"I understand exactly who he is. That's why I'm calling you."

"Do you have grounds?"

I glanced at the laptop. "Video. With audio. Time-stamped."

"Okay." His voice changed. Sharper. Interested. "What's your priority? The apartment? Alimony?"

"My son."

"Custody."

"Custody. And more than that." I pressed my free hand against my knee to keep it still. "Noah will become as sole heir. Vale Meridian shares, the trust, all of it. I want that locked down so tight nobody can touch it. Not Damian. Not anyone he decides to marry next."

Theo was quiet for a beat. "You think he'd cut Noah out?"

"I think three days ago I didn't think he'd cheat on me with my cousin."

"Jesus." He exhaled. "Okay. Come to my office tomorrow. Nine. Bring everything. And Elara?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let him know. Not a word, not a look. Men like Damian move money fast once they smell trouble."

"He won't smell anything."

I hung up.

From the kitchen, Noah called out, "Mom! How do you spell 'because'?"

"B-E-C-A-U-S-E!"

"Thanks!"

I set the phone down. Then it buzzed again.

Not Damian.

Sloane.

*Hey cuz!! Missed you. Brunch Sunday? I have BIG news I want you to hear first. 💕*