Outside The Regent Grand Hotel, Service Entrance - 3:12 a.m.

A black SUV idled near the rear exit of the hotel, its tinted windows reflecting the amber haze of the streetlight. The alley reeked of oil, cigarette butts, and old rain. A woman in stilettos and a camel-hair trench coat stood in the shadow of a dumpster, compulsively checking the time on her Cartier watch.

Chloe Dubois.

Flawless makeup. Ice-blonde hair slicked into a chignon. Her perfume, expensive and sharp, couldn’t mask the scent of fear sweating through her silk blouse.

The man she waited for emerged from the shadows with the half-strut, half-slouch of someone who thought himself charming. Leather jacket, bad cologne, worse breath. He flicked the stub of a cigarette into the gutter.

"Took you long enough," Chloe snapped. Her voice was low, impatient.

"Had to make sure the girl stayed out cold long enough," he grinned. "You said it had to be a guaranteed scene. You’re lucky she’s small. Barely made a fuss."

Chloe's jaw clenched. "Don’t talk about her like that."

He laughed, slow and greasy. "Right. Your best friend, huh? Then again, guess she won’t be besting anything after tonight."

Chloe thrust a folded check into his chest. "You never saw me. You never met her. If you open your mouth to anyone, you disappear."

He snatched the check, glancing at the figure. Whistled. "This ought to keep me invisible for a while."

She turned to go.

"Wait," he called after her. "Aren’t you even curious who she ended up with?"

Chloe froze.

"Relax," the man added, digging into his coat pocket. "She went into the right room. Bigshot suite. 2801."

Chloe turned, her voice razor-thin. "Who was inside?"

He shrugged. "Didn’t ask. Some rich prick. He looked the type to handle a surprise package without blinking."

Something flickered across her face. Doubt. Then calculation. But she said nothing more. She slipped into the SUV and slammed the door.

The man watched the car peel off into the wet streets, then lit another cigarette. "Crazy bitches," he muttered.

---

Elsewhere - The Empire Suite

Isabella hadn't moved.

The minutes bled into each other, wrapped in the sterile hush of the suite. Her head pressed against her knees, the marble floor like ice against her legs.

She didn’t understand.

The night was a blur of colors and sensations. Champagne. Laughter. Chloe pressing the keycard into her hand, whispering encouragements.

She remembered staggering down the carpeted hall, heart racing with heartbreak and champagne. The scent of cedar. Strong arms. The illusion of love.

It was never Zachary.

She began to shake.

Was it a mistake? A mix-up? But the red on the sheets said otherwise. So did the cold finality in the stranger's eyes.

Then a sharp pain was felt behind her head and some memories came in fragments.

The bar. Glittering lights and too many shots.

And then Chloe, leaning in, her breath warm and wine-sweet.

"Bella... please don’t hate me. I need to tell you something. I didn't mean for it to happen. It just did. I... I’m pregnant."

Isabella blinked, the words slow to register.

"What are you talking about?"

"It’s Zachary. We didn’t plan it. It started while you two were... distant. He loves me, Bella. He really does. I didn't know how to tell you. I'm so sorry. Just... let us be together."

Laughter around them. The dizzy swirl of a club. Chloe's voice dissolving into music.

Isabella remembered smiling. Or maybe crying. Or both.

But she still came to the suite...

And Chloe gave her the key...

Ah. Everything is so confusing. She wished them well but still thought of sleeping with Zachary. That was almost more unforgivable than what chloe had done.

Why?

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Zachary Grant

She stared at the name until the screen went black. Then slowly reached for it, thumb hovering.

She couldn't. Not now.

Not ever?