The car ride back to Manhattan was suffocating.
Emma sat on one side of the backseat, Alexander on the other, with what felt like miles of leather and tension between them. His phone hadn't stopped ringing since they'd left Greenwich—his PR team, his lawyer, his business partners, all demanding explanations for Victoria's Instagram post that had already been screenshotted, shared, and dissected across social media.
"No comment," Alexander said for the fifth time into his phone, his voice flat and controlled. "Yes, I understand the optics. No, I'm not issuing a statement tonight. We'll reconvene Monday morning."
He hung up and immediately the phone rang again. This time he sent it to voicemail.
Emma twisted her wedding ring around and around her finger. The platinum felt heavy suddenly, weighted with all the lies they'd told and the truth that was rapidly spiraling out of their control.
