Shattered Vows: The Wife's Bloody Escape

The smell of overcooked pastry filled the penthouse.

Daisy Abbott stared through the glass of the oven door. The crust of the Wellington steak, which had been golden and perfect an hour ago, was now dry and flaking.

She turned her head. The vintage grandfather clock in the corner of the massive living room ticked loudly. The brass hands pointed to eleven o'clock.

Her stomach tightened into a hard knot.

She picked up her phone from the marble island. She dialed Emmett's private number. It rang twice before clicking over to his cold, automated voicemail.

Daisy lowered the phone. The silence in the apartment felt heavy, pressing down on her chest.

Suddenly, the screen of her iPad, resting on the counter, lit up. A breaking news notification from Page Six flashed across the glass.

Daisy caught Emmett's name in the headline. Her heart skipped a beat. Her fingertips went cold.

She swiped the screen. A high-definition paparazzi photo filled the display.

The background was the VIP entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital. Emmett was there. He wore his signature custom-tailored suit. His broad shoulders were hunched forward, his arm protectively shielding a woman on a stretcher from the camera flashes.

Daisy zoomed in on the image. Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Eryn Cannon. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and tearful, looking up at Emmett like he was her entire world.

A wave of intense nausea hit Daisy. The room spun.

Her fingers lost their grip. The iPad slipped from her hands and crashed onto the marble countertop.

The sound of shattering glass echoed sharply through the empty penthouse. The screen spiderwebbed into a hundred broken pieces.

Daisy dragged a shaky breath into her lungs. She forced her trembling hands to pick up her phone again. She dialed Kelton, Emmett's executive assistant.

He answered on the fifth ring. "Mrs. Reese?" His voice was tight.

"Is Emmett at the hospital?" Daisy asked. Her voice was completely flat.

Two seconds of dead silence passed through the receiver. It was a fatal pause.

"Mrs. Reese, that article is heavily sensationalized," Kelton replied, his tone remaining perfectly even despite the ambush. "Miss Cannon was admitted for a sudden medical episode, and Mr. Reese merely ensured she arrived safely. He is currently en route back to the office for the cross-border merger meeting."

"Billionaire's Midnight Hospital Vigil: Old Flames Rekindled," Daisy read the headline aloud. Her voice was like ice.

"The media is spinning a narrative, ma'am," Kelton countered smoothly, not missing a beat. "The meeting is about to begin, and he will be occupied."

A hot flush of humiliation burned the back of Daisy's neck. She was his wife, and she was being played for a fool on her birthday.

She ended the call.

She looked at the dining table. The candles had burned down to stubs. The expensive red wine breathed in crystal glasses.

A sudden, violent surge of anger ripped through her. She swept her arm across the table.

The wine glass flew off the edge and shattered against the floor. Dark red liquid bled into the expensive Persian rug like a fresh wound.

Daisy ripped the silk apron from her waist. She threw it onto the ruined table.

She marched to the entryway. She yanked open the drawer and grabbed the keys to her Porsche.

She shoved the heavy oak door open and walked briskly across the marble vestibule, stepping into the private elevator landing. She hit the button for the underground garage.

The elevator dropped. The sudden loss of gravity made her stomach churn. She stared at her own reflection in the mirrored walls. She looked pale, sick, and furious.

The doors slid open. She stepped out, her high heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor.

The valet stepped forward with a polite smile. "Mrs. Reese, do you need-"

Daisy shot him a glare so lethal he instantly stepped back.

She yanked the door of the Porsche open and dropped into the driver's seat. She slammed the door shut, cutting off the sounds of the garage.

She pushed the ignition button. The engine roared to life, vibrating through the steering wheel and into her bones.

Daisy slammed her foot on the gas. The sports car shot up the ramp and tore out into the freezing Manhattan rain.

The rain lashed violently against the windshield. Daisy gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned stark white. Her eyes were locked on the road, the GPS already set for Mount Sinai Hospital.