So I kept them steady.
I turned away from my husband proposing to my stepsister, walked back through the service corridor, descended the concrete stairwell, and reached the underground garage. Only after I sat inside my Mercedes did my body shake once, violently, like grief had punched through my ribs.
Then it stopped.
I started the engine, connected my phone, and said, “Call Daniel Ross.”
Daniel answered on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Clara? Do you know what time it is?”
“The contingency plan,” I said.
Silence.
Then his tone sharpened instantly. “Which one?”
“The marital misconduct clause. Section Four-C. Richard and Emily. I saw it myself. He proposed to her at the gala.”
Daniel inhaled sharply. I heard sheets rustling, then the click of a lamp switching on. “Are you certain?”
“I watched her accept.”
Another silence followed, heavier than before.
