You Can't Afford My Broken Heart

Katharine Kent POV:

"When are you going to put her out of her misery, Drew?"

The words bled through the heavy mahogany door of the VIP lounge. I froze. My fingers, wrapped tightly around the velvet box containing the vintage Patek Philippe cufflinks, suddenly went numb.

The hallway of the Manhattan elite club was dimly lit by brass wall sconces. I stood perfectly still. My heart didn't just drop; it slammed against my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I pressed my shoulder against the doorframe, peering through the slight crack.

Inside, Andrew Blackburn sat slouched on a leather Chesterfield sofa. He swirled a glass of amber bourbon. His posture was lazy. His face, usually so composed and attentive when he looked at me, held a cold, bored expression I had never seen in our eight years together.

"Soon," Andrew said. His voice was a low rumble. He took a sip of his drink. "Katharine is useful for now. She's the perfect PR shield."

Bile rose in the back of my throat. My stomach twisted into a violent knot.

"A shield for Alida?" one of the guys asked, laughing.

"Exactly," Andrew replied, setting his glass on the table. He adjusted his pristine white cuffs, a gesture he always made when he was completely in control. "The press is relentless. If they think I'm serious about Katharine, they leave Alida alone. Alida is too fragile for the tabloids. I'm setting up a fake pregnancy rumor and a highly publicized wedding with Alida down the line. But until the trust fund is secure, Katharine plays her part."

"She's obsessed with you, man," another voice chimed in. "She's not going to let go easily."

Andrew scoffed. The sound was like a physical slap to my face.

"She will when she sees the prenup," Andrew said flatly. "I'll make the terms so draconian she'll run for the hills. She's just clinging to the lifestyle."

I couldn't breathe. The air in the hallway felt too thick, too hot. My vision blurred. I took a step back, desperate to get oxygen into my burning lungs.

My heel caught the edge of a metal tray stand left by a waiter.

Clang.

The sound of the heavy metal tray striking the floor was deafening in the quiet corridor. It was immediately followed by the muffled crunch of crystal glasses shattering against the thick, plush carpet.

The laughter inside the VIP room stopped instantly.

Through the crack in the door, I saw Andrew's head snap toward the entrance. His eyes narrowed, sharp and alert.

Panic, raw and electric, shot through my veins. I spun around. My heels dug into the carpet as I sprinted toward the corner. I threw open the heavy fire door and slipped into the concrete stairwell just as the mahogany door of the lounge swung open.

I pressed my back against the freezing concrete wall. I clamped both hands over my mouth, biting down on my own fingers to stifle the sob tearing up