How My Husband Planned My Ruin and Built His Own Downfall
I turned my head toward the large glass facade of the lobby that looked out onto the street.
Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets, blurring the yellow streetlights.
A black sedan was parked idling by the curb, its hazard lights blinking through the dark.
Through the wet glass, I could see the silhouette of a figure sitting in the back seat.
“I have something that Jared took from you,” the woman said.
“And it isn’t something your lawyers can get back in a courtroom.”
The line went dead with a soft click.
I lowered the phone, my heart beating hard against my ribs.
Marcus noticed my expression and stepped closer.
“Shelby?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”
“I need to go outside for a moment,” I said.
I walked past the remaining reporters, ignoring their shouted questions.
I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the lobby.
The cold, damp air hit my face, a sharp contrast to the stuffy warmth of the auditorium.
The black sedan’s brake lights flared red on the wet pavement.
I walked down the concrete steps, my heels clicking in the shallow puddles.