Oops, Looks Like You're the One Dying, Sweetheart

"More coffee, ma'am?"

The waitress hovered at the edge of my booth, holding a steaming glass pot.

"No. Just the check." I pushed a crumpled ten-dollar bill across the sticky laminate table.

"Keep the change," I added.

"Thank you, honey. Have a good afternoon."

She walked away, but my eyes never left the window. I stared through the glass at the revolving doors of the high-rise across the street. Montgomery Holdings.

I had been sitting in this diner for two hours. No tears. No panic. Just a cold, heavy patience.

At exactly two-fifteen, Julian stepped onto the pavement.

He wore his tailored navy suit, looking every bit the successful CEO. A second later, a woman followed him out.

She wore a striking crimson trench coat. Dark hair fell straight down her back.

"Elena," I whispered to the empty booth.

Julian stopped at the curb. He turned to her, smiling. Then, his right hand lifted and settled firmly against the small of her back.

He didn't just guide her. His fingers pressed into the fabric of her coat, lingering. She leaned into his shoulder, tilting her head back to laugh at something he said.

My stomach twisted, but my hands remained entirely steady.

I grabbed my phone from the table and opened the camera.

*Snap.*

I zoomed in. The screen captured the exact placement of his hand.

*Snap.*

She reached up and adjusted his silk tie. Her knuckles brushed his jawline.

*Snap.*

A black town car pulled up to the curb. Julian opened the rear door for her, his hand sliding down to rest briefly on her hip as she climbed inside. He followed her in. The door slammed shut.

I lowered the phone. The photos sat secured in my digital album.

I didn't run across the street to scream. I didn't bang on the tinted windows of the car. Confrontation without leverage was a fool's game, and Julian had already proven he held all the financial cards.

I needed to know exactly what I was fighting.

I slid out of the booth, crossed the busy street, and pushed through the heavy glass doors of the Montgomery Holdings lobby.

"Mrs. Montgomery!"

The receptionist, a young girl named Chloe, dropped her pen. She sat up straighter behind the massive marble counter.

"Hi, Chloe." I pulled a blank, sealed manila envelope from my purse and set it on the cold stone. "Julian left this on the kitchen counter this morning. I figured he might need it for his afternoon meetings."

"Oh, you just missed him." Chloe reached for the envelope. "He stepped out about five minutes ago."

"I thought I saw him walking to a car." I kept my voice light, conversational. "Who was that with him? Tall, dark hair, red coat?"

Chloe smiled eagerly. "That's Ms. Rostova. Elena."

"Elena." I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. "Right. The new consultant?"

"She's the lead partner for the Arts District commercial project," Chloe corrected. She leaned forward, lowering her voice like we were sharing a secret. "Mr. Montgomery has been working with her constantly. They just went to a site visit."

"A site visit."

"Yes, ma'am. It’s a massive joint venture. Mr. Montgomery said she’s the entire reason the deal is moving forward. He even authorized the initial capital transfers this week."

Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

"She must be very persuasive," I said.

"Oh, completely. They make a great team."

"I'm sure they do. Make sure he gets that envelope, Chloe."

"Will do, Mrs. Montgomery!"

I turned and walked out of the building. The afternoon sun hit my face, but I felt freezing.

***

The leather seat of my sedan burned against my legs. I sat in the parking garage, staring blankly at the dashboard clock.

I tapped the Bluetooth icon on the screen.

"Dr. Evans." His voice crackled through the car speakers.

"It's Adeline."

"Adeline. I was hoping you would call back. You left so abruptly yesterday. We really need to schedule your oncology consultation."

"Skip the consultation for a minute, Doctor. Give me numbers."

"Excuse me?"

"If I pay out of pocket for the most aggressive treatment plan, what is the total cost?" I gripped the steering wheel tight. "Surgery, chemotherapy, radiation. Everything."

Papers shuffled on his end. "Insurance usually covers a significant portion of—"

"Assume I have no insurance." I cut him off. "Assume I am paying cash. What is the number?"

A heavy pause hung on the line.

"Upwards of two hundred thousand dollars," Dr. Evans finally said. "Maybe more, depending on the length of your hospital stay and the specific chemical cocktails we use."

Two hundred thousand.

Julian hadn't just stolen my grandmother's sapphires. He had stolen my life insurance. He had handed my survival money to a woman in a red coat for a fake commercial property.

"How long do I have?" I asked.

"Before the cancer spreads to your lymph nodes? A month. Two at the absolute maximum. You cannot delay this, Adeline. We need to start prepping you for surgery immediately."

"I understand."

"When can you come in to sign the paperwork?"

"I'll call you by Friday."

I ended the call. The silence of the garage rushed back in.

I had thirty days to secure two hundred thousand dollars. I had thirty days to rip my assets back from Julian and Martha before my own body turned against me.

I shifted the car into drive and hit the gas.

***

The front door of our house clicked shut behind me.

I dropped my keys into the ceramic bowl in the foyer. The house smelled faintly of Martha's lemon polish, but the halls were quiet.

"Adeline?"

Julian walked out of the kitchen. He had beaten me home. He wore the same navy suit, but the jacket was off, and his collar was unbuttoned.

"You're home early," I said.

"My afternoon meetings wrapped up quicker than expected." He held a glass of iced water. Condensation dripped down the sides.

He closed the distance between us and pressed the cold glass directly into my hands. His fingers brushed mine. They felt warm.

"Drink," he urged softly.

I stared at the floating ice cubes.

"I was thinking about what you said yesterday," Julian murmured.

His expression shifted, twisting into a flawless mask of deep, husbandly concern. He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. I forced myself not to flinch.

"About the hospital," he continued. "I know I was dismissive on the phone. I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yes." He stepped closer, invading my personal space. "We're going to fight this illness, Adeline. We'll find the best specialists in the state."

I looked up into his eyes. They were wide, earnest, and completely hollow.

"Whatever the treatment costs," Julian said, his voice dropping into a comforting whisper, "don't worry about the money. I've got it completely covered."