Cards in Her Palm

The charity ballroom glittered with false promises and genuine diamonds. Elena stood by the champagne fountain, moisture slick in her palm as she watched them across the floor.

Richard's new business partner—some clever little fox from venture capital, all sharp smiles and sharper ambition—had her hand on his arm. Not quite inappropriate, but close enough to make Elena's stomach hollow out. She'd become an expert in this particular kind of surveillance over eight years of marriage. Learning to spy on your own life was a skill you developed gradually, like alcoholism or cynicism.

The fox laughed at something Richard said, tilting her head back, exposing the pale curve of her throat. Richard's hat—an affectation he'd adopted recently, trying on sophistication like an ill-fitting suit—sat on his head at a jaunty angle. He looked younger. He looked like someone considering choices he'd already made once and might make again.

Elena checked her watch. 9:47. The corporate merger would finalize tomorrow morning. Richard had insisted on separate prenups this time, new lawyers, fresh paperwork. She'd signed everything he asked, her palm steady as always, her expression unreadable. She'd learned from the best.

The fox leaned in closer, whispering something near his ear. Whatever she said made Richard's smile falter for just a fraction of a second—guilt, perhaps, or recognition. Elena knew what the woman was telling him. She'd paid enough to make sure of it.

"Everything all right, darling?" Richard appeared at her elbow, the fox gone like smoke. "You look miles away."

Elena smiled, feeling the weight of the encrypted flash drive in her clutch, the Swiss account numbers memorized, the corporate espionage charges she'd filed under seal exactly twenty-three minutes ago. The merger was dead. His assets frozen. The fox had been her hire all along.

"Never better," she said, pressing her palm against his cheek. "I was just thinking how much I love surprising you."