"Just leave. See if anyone will want you."
I hear the words before I register who's speaking. Then Elijah is there, leaning on the kitchen counter, one hand flat on marble like he can pin me to it.
"You can't say that," I say. My voice comes out thin. The housekeeper freezes with a tray. Zane is by the doorway, hands folded, no expression on his face.
He laughs once, low and casual. "I said it. It's true."
"You called me a liability in a shareholder call last week," I say. "You told them I'd be 'a distraction' at the gala."
Elijah tilts his head. "Context matters."
"No," I say. "Context was you deciding whether to divorce me because a board member flirted with Franziska and you thought it would look better."
Zane doesn't move. His eyes flick to me and then away. The tray trembles in the housekeeper's hands.
Elijah steps closer. He's not shouting. He never shouts. He shapes cruelty the way some people shape compliments. "We built something big, Laney. You understood that night I had to choose. You never blamed the company before."
"You said that to my face?" I ask. "You told me to act like a widow for the cameras and go home when the deal closed."
He shrugs. "Public relations are messy. We did what needed to be done."
"I held your hand through worse," I say. I remember nights in a garage with boxes and
