The internet had already decided she was plain.
Boring.
A background wife.
A rich man’s mistake before his real match arrived.
Madison placed her phone face down.
“File it.”
Rachel’s fingers moved across the keyboard.
At 12:01 a.m., an emergency petition landed in New York Supreme Court.
At 12:04 a.m., notice went to Preston’s legal team.
At 12:07 a.m., a sealed packet was delivered to the independent directors of CrossCore.
At 12:11 a.m., Graham Alden sent one sentence from San Francisco to Madison.
The pantry is locked.
Madison slept for three hours.
At 3:26 a.m., she woke to Preston pounding on the penthouse door.
Not knocking.
Pounding.
The baby kicked hard enough to make her breathe through her teeth.
Madison sat up slowly.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Preston: Open the door.
Preston: Now.
Preston: Do not make me look insane in front of my own building staff.
Madison looked toward the hallway.
She had changed the access codes two weeks earlier.
Not to keep Preston out forever.
Just to make sure he understood doors could close both ways.
She pulled on a robe, walked barefoot to the entry monitor, and looked at the screen.
Preston stood outside in his tuxedo, bow tie undone, hair less perfect now.
Sienna stood behind him in the silver gown.
Madison stared.
That was almost impressive.
He had brought the mistress to the marital home.
Preston leaned toward the camera. “Madison, open the door.”
She pressed the intercom.
“Why is she here?”
Sienna stepped forward before Preston could answer.
Up close, she was even more beautiful than the billboards. High cheekbones. Glossy brown hair. A face built for perfume campaigns and cruel lighting.
“I think we should talk like adults,” Sienna said.
Madison looked at her bare left hand.
No ring.
No shame either.
“Adults don’t come to pregnant women’s homes at three in the morning wearing borrowed gowns,” Madison said.
Sienna’s smile flickered.
Preston slapped one hand against the door. “Enough. Open it.”
“No.”
His eyes widened.
It was small, but Madison saw it.
Preston was not used to no.
Not from staff.
Not from investors.
Not from women.
Especially not from her.
“Madison,” he said, lowering his voice into the tone he used during negotiations, “you embarrassed me tonight.”
She almost laughed.
“I embarrassed you?”
“You walked out during a live broadcast.”
“You introduced your mistress as your girlfriend while your pregnant wife sat thirty feet away.”
His jaw tightened. “The situation was mishandled.”
“By whom?”
“Don’t do this through a door.”
“I like the door.”
Sienna folded her arms. “Preston, this is ridiculous.”
Madison’s eyes shifted to her.
“I agree.”
For one second, Sienna looked pleased.
Then Madison said, “You should ask him why he needed you on camera before the divorce was filed.”
Sienna blinked.
Preston snapped, “Madison.”
Good.
There it was.
Fear.
Sienna looked at him. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Preston said.
Madison leaned closer to the intercom.
“It means you’re not the prize, Sienna. You’re the distraction.”