Dominic sat in the back of the yellow cab, his body rigid. The vinyl seat was torn, and the cab smelled of stale tobacco and pine air freshener, a stark contrast to the lavender-scented air of the penthouse.

He gripped his phone so hard his knuckles turned white. The blood had drained from his hands, leaving them cold and stiff.

Flashbacks assaulted him, not as images, but as physical sensations.

Three months ago. The gala. Evelin laughing at something Hank said, her hand lingering on his forearm a second too long. Dominic had felt a prickle on his neck then, a warning instinct he had shoved down with a gulp of champagne.

Last month. Hank calling at midnight. "Business emergency, Dom. Need Evelin to sign off on the merger docs." Dominic had handed the phone to her, trusting, blind. He felt the fool now. The shame burned in his gut, hot and acidic.

"Hey buddy, we're here," the driver grunted.

Dominic looked up. The neon sign of THE VELVET LOUNGE pulsed in pink and purple against the night sky. A line of people wrapped around the block, shivering in their party clothes, desperate to get in.

Dominic threw a wad of cash at the partition-he didn't count it-and shoved the door open.

He marched toward the entrance. The bouncer, a mountain of a man with a clipboard, stepped in front of the velvet rope, crossing his arms.

"List only tonight, pal. Step back."

Dominic didn't stop moving until he was inches from the man's chest. He pulled his wallet out and flashed his ID.

"Carney-Waters," Dominic said. The name tasted like ash in his mouth. He hated the hyphen. Evelin had insisted on it. To keep the brand alive, she had said.

The bouncer looked at the ID, then at Dominic's face. Recognition dawned in his eyes. The name Carney opened doors in this city that keys couldn't.

"Mr. Waters," the bouncer mumbled, unhooking the rope immediately. " didn't know you were coming. Mrs. Carney is already inside."

"I know," Dominic said. His voice was flat, devoid of inflection.

He walked past the line of envious stares and into the club.

The bass hit him instantly. It thumped against his ribcage, vibrating through his bones. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, expensive perfume, and spilled alcohol. Strobe lights sliced through the darkness, disorienting him.

He pushed through the crowd on the dance floor. Bodies pressed against him, wet and gyrating. He felt nothing. He was a stone moving through a river.

He scanned the room, his eyes locking onto the mezzanine level. The VIP section.

He saw her. Or rather, he saw Chloe Price leaning over the railing, laughing, holding a champagne flute high in the air.

Dominic headed for the stairs. His heart was pounding in his ears now, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out the house music. Thump. Thump. Thump.

He reached the top of the stairs. A long corridor stretched out, lined with private booths shielded by heavy curtains and oak doors.

At the end of the hall, standing guard in front of the largest suite, was Miller.

Miller was head of the Carney family's private security detail. He had driven Dominic's mother to chemo treatments. He had been there when Dominic learned to walk again after the... no, don't think about that.

Miller looked up. His eyes widened. He shifted his stance, blocking the door.

"Mr. Waters," Miller said, his voice strained. "You shouldn't be here, sir."

Dominic didn't break stride. "Move, Miller."

"Sir, please. Mrs. Carney gave strict orders..."

"I don't care about her orders," Dominic snapped. "Move. Or I fire you. Right now."

Miller hesitated. He looked at the door, then back at Dominic. He saw the look in Dominic's eyes-a look of a man who had nothing left to lose.

Miller stepped aside. He lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Dominic."

Dominic didn't answer. He stood before the heavy oak door.

He could hear them. Muffled laughter. It was Evelin's laugh. Not the polite, high-pitched titter she used at charity dinners. This was a throaty, genuine laugh. A sound he hadn't heard in five years.

Then, Hank's voice. "He's probably ironing your napkins right now. The guy is domesticated."

The humiliation hit Dominic like a physical blow to the face. His skin burned. His blood boiled.

He didn't knock. He reached for the handle. Locked.

Of course.

Dominic took a step back. He didn't think. He reacted. He drove the heel of his Italian leather shoe into the wood, just below the lock mechanism.

CRACK.

The wood splintered. The door swung open, banging against the inner wall.

The music inside the room seemed to cut out instantly. The occupants froze.

Dominic stepped into the room. His eyes adjusted to the dim red light, locking onto the velvet couch in the center.

The VIP room was bathed in a sordid red glow. Empty bottles of Cristal littered the low glass table, sparkling like diamonds in the gloom.

Evelin was sitting on Hank's lap. Her dress was hiked up her thighs. Her hand was tangled in his hair.

Hank was leaning back, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, feeding her a chocolate-covered strawberry.

For a heartbeat, nobody moved. It was a tableau of betrayal, frozen in time.

Then, chaos.

Evelin scrambled off Hank's lap, smoothing her dress down with frantic, jerky movements. Annoyance, not shame, flooded her features.

Hank sat up, wiping a smear of chocolate from his lip. He didn't look scared. He looked interrupted.

Chloe Price and two other socialites in the corner gasped, hands flying to their mouths to hide their giggles. They were enjoying this. To them, this wasn't a tragedy; it was content.

Dominic stood in the doorway, breathing hard. His chest heaved. His suit was slightly disheveled from the kick.

Evelin spoke first. Her voice was ice cold, cutting through the tension. "What are you doing here, Dominic? You're embarrassing me."

Dominic blinked. The words didn't make sense. "Embarrassing you?" He stepped into the room, glass crunching under his shoe. "You're cheating on me. On our anniversary."

Hank stood up now. He held his hands up in a mock surrender gesture, a smirk playing on his lips. "Whoa, Dom. Calm down. We were just playing a game."

"A game?" Dominic repeated.

Chloe chimed in from the corner, her voice shrill. "Truth or Dare, Dominic. Don't be such a prude. Everyone plays it."

The room erupted in forced, nervous laughter. They were closing ranks. They were gaslighting him, collectively, right to his face.

Dominic looked at Evelin, waiting. Waiting for her to deny it. Waiting for her to say it was a misunderstanding.

Evelin picked up her champagne flute and took a sip. She didn't look at him. "Hank is a family friend, Dominic. You know that. You're being hysterical."

"A friend?" Dominic's voice rose. "You lied to me. You said you were in a board meeting."

Hank stepped between Dominic and Evelin, puffing out his chest. "She needed to blow off steam, Dom. You're suffocating her, man. Always waiting at home like a puppy. It's pathetic."

Dominic glared at Hank. The man he had built a company with. The man he had trusted. "Get out of my way, Hank."

Hank leaned in close. He lowered his voice so only Dominic could hear, the smell of expensive scotch on his breath. "Or what? You're a trophy husband, Dom. You own nothing. You are nothing."

Dominic clenched his fists at his sides. His fingernails dug into his palms, breaking the skin. "I own my dignity."

Chloe whispered loudly to her friend, "Does dignity pay for that suit? I don't think so."

Evelin sighed, a sound of pure boredom. She checked her reflection in the darkened window, fixing a stray hair. "Go home, Dominic. We'll talk when you're rational."

"I am rational," Dominic said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "I'm seeing clearly for the first time in years."

He pointed a shaking finger at Hank. "He's been stealing from the firm, hasn't he? That's why you two are so close. You're covering for him."

The room went silent. The air pressure dropped.

Hank's smirk faltered for a microsecond. His eyes flicked to Evelin.

Evelin stood up abruptly, stepping in front of Hank, shielding him. "How dare you," she hissed. "How dare you accuse him of that."

Dominic looked at his wife defending her lover. The betrayal deepened, drilling down into the marrow of his bones. She wasn't just sleeping with him; she was conspiring with him.

"Leave," Evelin commanded, pointing a manicured finger at the door. "Leave now. Before I have Miller drag you out."

Dominic looked back at the hallway. Miller was hovering there, looking away, ashamed.

Dominic realized he was alone. Completely and utterly alone in a room full of enemies.

He laughed. It was a dry, broken sound that hurt his throat. "You're protecting him."

Hank regained his composure. He placed a hand on Evelin's waist, pulling her back against him. A possessive, claiming gesture. "She's protecting you from making a scene, Dom. Now be a good boy and run along."

Dominic stared at Hank's hand. The heavy fingers splayed across the silk of Evelin's dress. The thumb rubbing slow circles against her hip.

Hank noticed Dominic's gaze. He didn't pull away. He deliberately squeezed Evelin's hip, harder this time.

Hank whispered, loud enough for the silence to carry it to Dominic's ears, "Happy Anniversary, Dom."

Something snapped in Dominic's brain. It wasn't a thought; it was a circuit breaker blowing. The civil veneer, the years of etiquette, the Ivy League restraint-it all shattered.

Dominic lunged.

He closed the distance in one stride. He threw a right hook, putting the entire weight of his betrayal, his grief, and his lost years into the motion.

CRUNCH.

His fist connected with Hank's jaw. The sound was sickening-bone on bone.

Hank stumbled back, his eyes rolling up. He crashed into the low table. Glass shattered. Champagne bottles exploded. Liquid sprayed everywhere in a frothy geyser. Chloe screamed, a high-pitched shriek that pierced the room.

Hank hit the floor hard, clutching his bleeding mouth, groaning.

Dominic stood over him, panting. His fist throbbed with a dull, heavy ache. His knuckles were split.

For a second, the room was paralyzed by the violence. The music outside seemed miles away.

SLAP.

A sharp, stinging pain exploded across Dominic's left cheek. His head whipped to the side.

He stumbled, catching his balance. He turned slowly.

Evelin was standing there, her hand raised, her chest heaving. Her eyes were wide with fury. Not fear. Fury.

"You animal!" she screamed. "Look what you did to him!"

She rushed past Dominic, dropping to her knees in the broken glass and spilled alcohol. She didn't care about her dress. She cradled Hank's head in her lap.

"Hank? Hank, are you okay? Look at me." Her voice was soft, frantic. She was cooing to him.

Dominic touched his stinging cheek. The physical pain was nothing. It was a gnat bite. But the sight... the sight of his wife holding another man, looking at him with that level of concern... that was the executioner's axe.

He realized then that the marriage wasn't just dying. It was a corpse he had been dragging around for years, pretending it was still warm.

Miller and two other guards rushed into the room, radios crackling.

Evelin looked up, her face twisted in a snarl. She pointed at Dominic. "Get him out of here! He's crazy! He assaulted him!"

Miller reached for Dominic's arm.

Dominic raised a hand. "Don't touch me."

The command in his voice stopped Miller cold.

Dominic straightened his jacket. He smoothed his lapels. He regained a shred of composure, pulling the mask of the elite back over his raw face.

He looked down at his wife, who was wiping blood from her lover's lip with the hem of her designer dress.

"I want a divorce," Dominic said. His voice was devoid of emotion. It was dead.

Evelin froze. She looked up, scoffing. "You wouldn't dare."

Dominic met her eyes. "Watch me."

He turned on his heel. He stepped over the puddle of champagne and blood. He walked out of the room, past the stunned guards, past the gawking socialites.

As he exited the club, the cold night air hit him. It bit at his skin, signaling the start of a long, dark winter. The war had begun.