Chapter 1 - The Longest Flight in the World
The heavy thud of my leather bag sliding under the seat in front of me was the only sound that seemed to register over the dull roar of the aircraft’s engines. I smoothed the skirt of my tailored navy dress, buckled my seatbelt, and turned my head slowly to the left.
Julian looked as though all the blood had been siphoned from his veins. His perfectly styled hair, his expensive Italian shirt, the smug confidence he carried like a weapon—all of it vanished the moment our eyes met. He gripped the armrest so tightly his knuckles were white.
"What are you doing here?" he asked again, his voice a strained, breathless hiss. He darted a panicked look at the flight attendants, terrified of causing a scene.
"I told you, Julian," I said, keeping my voice bright, pleasant, and completely steady. "I'm traveling. It’s funny how we ended up on the same flight. Weren't you supposed to be in Chicago for meetings?"
In seat 7A, the young blonde woman leaned forward, looking past Julian’s chest to get a look at me. She was undeniably beautiful, with flawless skin and a designer silk top that Julian had probably paid for.
"Julian?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?"
Julian opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His brain was short-circuiting. He was trapped in a metal tube thirty thousand feet in the air, with absolutely nowhere to run.
"I'm Elena," I said, extending a hand past my husband's frozen chest. "Julian's wife of twelve years. And you must be Chloe. I recognize you from the Back Bay restaurant on Tuesday. Or was it the boutique hotel on Thursday?"
Chloe gasped, shrinking back against the window. "Wife? Julian, you said your divorce was finalized six months ago! You said she moved out to California!"
"California?" I chuckled, opening the brass clasp of my leather folder. "I was making him pot roast last night in our kitchen in Boston while he told our ten-year-old daughter about his big corporate trip to Chicago."
Julian finally found his voice. "Elena, stop. Please. Put the folder away. We can talk about this when we land. Just don't do this here."
"Oh, I think we have plenty of time to talk right now," I replied, pulling out the first stack of 8x10 glossy photographs. I handed them directly to Chloe.
She took them with trembling hands. They were timestamped images of Julian kissing her, followed by images of Julian taking another woman—a brunette this time—to a very similar hotel exactly one month prior.
Chloe’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at the brunette. "Who is that?" she choked out.
"I don't know," I answered honestly, sipping the sparkling water the flight attendant had just handed me. "I stopped paying the private investigator after he found the first three mistresses. It was getting expensive. But that’s not really what I want to talk about today."
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I turned my attention back to my husband. The color hadn't returned to his face. In fact, he looked like he might vomit. He stared at the leather folder on my lap like it was a live explosive.
"You see, Julian," I murmured, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper meant only for him. "The infidelity just makes you a cliché. It’s what my lawyer found underneath the infidelity that makes you a criminal."
