Alexander's smile didn't so much as flicker.
"There you are, darling," he said, voice smooth as ever. "The governor has been looking for you."
Anna's heart was pounding so hard she wondered if everyone could hear it. Her breath felt trapped in her chest, her thoughts spinning so fast she couldn't hold onto a single excuse. Alexander's eyes made it clear, he didn't want to hear any. Not now. Not here.
Victor straightened. His face was calm, but Anna saw the tension rippling through his shoulders. "Alexander. Good to see you."
"Roman." Alexander's smile tightened at the edges. "Didn't realize you were on the board."
"I'm not. I donated." Victor's reply was measured, but there was steel underneath. "Seemed like a cause worth supporting."
"How very generous." Alexander stepped further into the lounge, each movement deliberate, controlled. "Anna, the governor is waiting. We shouldn't keep him."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Anna forced her legs to work, the burgundy dress suddenly too heavy. Crossing the room felt like trudging through mud. Alexander offered his arm. His grip was gentle, almost loving, but his fingers dug in, leaving a quiet threat beneath the surface.
"Excuse us, Roman," Alexander said, all pleasantness.
Victor's jaw tightened. His gaze met Anna's for a heartbeat, questioning, worried, desperate to do something.
She shook her head, just barely. Don't. Not here.
Alexander led her out, his hand never once leaving her arm. The hallway was deserted, every footstep echoing much too loud. Anna's pulse thundered in her ears.
"Alexander, I—"
"Not here." His voice was gentle, almost loving. Terrifying. "Smile, Anna. We're about to step back into the crowd."
She obeyed. The mask slid into place, years of practice taking over. By the time they reappeared in the ballroom, she looked every bit the perfect wife.
The rest of the night was a blur, shallow conversations, laughter that left her empty. Alexander stayed glued to her side. His hand never left her elbow, her waist. To everyone watching, they were the city's golden couple.
But Anna felt the chill coming off him. Every smile was calculated, every word weighed. They were both acting, and beneath it all she felt his fury: not hot, but cold enough to burn.
When they finally left, the flashes of cameras followed them all the way to the car. Anna smiled, waved, let Alexander's hand at her waist look like affection. The picture of unity.
The moment the town car door shut behind them, it all dropped away.
Silence. Thick, ugly, suffocating. The driver pulled away, city lights streaking by. Anna stared at her trembling hands in her lap.
Alexander said nothing.
The silence was almost worse than shouting. She'd seen him angry before, had weathered his cold silences, but this was something else. This was rage held with white-knuckled control, freezing the air between them.
"Alexander," she tried, barely above a whisper.
"Don't." The word was low, final, sharp as a knife. "Not yet."
She turned to the window, watching the city blur past. Fifteen blocks. Twelve. Ten. Every one bringing her closer to whatever was waiting at home.
The penthouse was dark. Alexander dismissed the driver with a nod, guided Anna inside. The door closed, lock clicking into place.
Now it was just them.
Alexander moved through the rooms with slow, deliberate steps, loosening his bow tie, slipping off his jacket. He poured himself a drink, the scotch catching the city lights. He took a sip, set the glass down, turned to face her.
"Explain," he said.
Anna's fingers twisted together. "Nothing happened."
He let out a laugh, cold, humorless. "Nothing happened. I find you alone in a private room with Victor Roman, his hands on you, inches apart, and you expect me to believe nothing happened?"
"We were just talking."
"Don't insult me." He picked up the glass again, swirling the liquid. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Page Six was bad enough. And now this? Caught with him again, the next night?"
"We weren't caught. You walked in, but no one else—"
"You think I'm the only one who saw?" His voice rose, a crack in his composure. "There were board members there. Bianca Travers was near the door. By tomorrow, every gossip rag in New York will be speculating about what happened in that room."
Anna's stomach dropped. She hadn't noticed anyone. She hadn't thought past Victor's hands, his promises.
"I didn't mean for this," she said, voice small.
"Didn't mean for it." He slammed the glass down. "You've been making choices, Anna. Every look, every whispered word, every time you let that man near you. Those were your choices."
"I know."
"Do you?" He stepped closer, eyes colder than ice. "Do you understand what's at risk? This isn't about your reputation, or mine. It's about Sam. About our family. About everything we've built."
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. "I love my son."
"Then act like it." His voice was quiet now, deadly calm. "If you keep this up, if you embarrass me, drag our marriage through the mud—you'll lose more than just this marriage. You'll lose everything."
The threat was unmistakable.
Anna's voice shook. "You wouldn't."
"Try me." His expression was stone. "I have the best lawyers in the city. Connections you can't imagine. Documentation of every foolish thing you've done this month. If it comes to a custody fight, Anna, you'll lose."
Her knees buckled. She grabbed a chair for support. "Sam needs his mother."
"Sam needs stability. A parent who puts him first." Alexander closed the distance, towering over her. "I've given you everything, this home, your life, your place in the world. And you repay me by making me a laughingstock?"
"I never wanted to hurt you."
"But you did." His jaw worked. "You humiliated me. Made people question if I can even keep my own house in order. You have no idea what that does to a man like me."
Anna shook her head, tears spilling at last.
"It makes them wonder what else I can't control," Alexander said. "Deals fall through. Investors get jittery. My reputation is everything. And you're spending it like pocket change."
"I'm sorry." It sounded feeble even to her.
"Sorry isn't enough." He stepped back, face hardening. "This is how it's going to be. You cut off Victor Roman. No contact. No calls. No 'accidental' meetings. You smile for the cameras and act the part. And you remember, every choice you make touches Sam's future."
Anna's breath hitched. "And if I don't?"
"I'll file for divorce and sole custody. I'll drag you through every court and tabloid in New York. When I'm done, you won't just lose Sam. You'll lose yourself."
The words hit like blows. Anna sank against the chair, vision swimming.
Alexander finished his drink in one swallow. "I'll be in the guest room." He turned and walked away, footsteps echoing. A door closed, leaving Anna alone in the dark, city lights mocking her through the windows.
She didn't know how long she stood there. Minutes or hours. Eventually, her legs carried her toward Sam's room. She needed to see him, needed to remember what mattered.
The door was ajar, soft nightlight spilling out. Anna stepped inside.
Sam was asleep, hair messy, one arm tossed around his stuffed elephant. He looked so small, heartbreakingly innocent. Anna's chest tightened.
On his nightstand was a stack of crayon drawings. She picked up the top one, hands shaking.
Three stick figures—Sam in the center, holding hands with "Daddy" and "Mommy." But Mommy's face was blue and sad. And above, in Sam's careful hand, four words:
"Mommy, don't be sad."
Anna collapsed beside the bed, clutching the drawing, silent sobs wracking her body.
Her son had seen her pain, even when she tried to hide it. While she'd been obsessed with her own misery, her own cage, Sam had been watching. Worrying. Drawing pictures of his sad mother, wishing he could fix it.
She pressed her hand to her mouth and cried quietly, not wanting to wake him.
What was she doing? Who was she becoming?
Alexander's words echoed: You will lose more than this marriage. You will lose everything.
And looking at Sam's drawing, Anna realized: she was already losing what mattered most.