Ninety Days Left: The Dying Wife's Revenge

Three months.

The doctor's words echoed in Tessa's ears as she pushed her weight against the heavy glass doors of the Manhattan private clinic. The biting November wind whipped her trench coat around her legs, but she felt nothing. Her fingers gripped the crisp white diagnosis paper so tightly her knuckles turned a translucent white. Organ failure. A rare toxin. Ninety days left before her body completely shut down.

Her phone buzzed in her handbag, a harsh vibration against her hip. She reached in with a trembling hand and pulled it out. The screen lit up with a new message from an unsaved number. She swiped it open.

It was a photo. A man's wrist resting on tangled white hotel sheets, wearing a custom Patek Philippe watch. She recognized that watch. She had bought it for Lucian on their first anniversary. Below the image was a text from Vanessa.

Last night was exhausting. He really does not like going home to you, does he?

A violent spasm ripped through Tessa's stomach. She doubled over, pressing her free hand hard against her lower ribs to stop the tearing sensation inside her. She leaned her shoulder against the cold red brick wall of the building and fumbled in her pocket for her prescription painkiller bottle. Her fingers were numb. The plastic bottle slipped from her grasp, bounced on the concrete, and rolled directly through the iron grate of the sewer drain.

A yellow taxi sped past, splashing a wave of dirty street water onto the hem of her coat. Tessa bit down on her lower lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She did not make a sound.

She straightened her spine, raised her hand, and flagged down the next approaching cab. She pulled open the door and slid into the backseat.

"The Sinclair estate in Long Island," she told the driver. Her voice sounded like dry leaves scraping across pavement.

The Manhattan skyline blurred outside the window. The world outside rushed backward, much like the ninety days of life she had left. Why? Why should Vanessa have everything-the love, the health, the future-while she was left to die in agony and humiliation? No. She refused to fade away quietly. If she was going down, she would drag them down with her. A desperate, reckless idea began to take root in the frozen wasteland of her mind. Three years of marriage played in her mind. Three years of waiting in empty rooms, of being treated like a ghost in her own home, of watching her husband shower his attention on a socialite who constantly mocked her existence. A single cold tear slid down her cheek.

The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Tessa immediately sat up straighter. She pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped the moisture from her face, leaving no trace of weakness.

The cab rolled to a stop outside the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate. Tessa handed the driver a wad of cash, pushed the door open, and stepped out. Her heels crunched against the gravel driveway, the sound sharp and lonely in the quiet afternoon.

She pushed open the heavy oak front doors. The cavernous living room was perfectly clean and entirely devoid of warmth. She did not pause. She walked straight up the sweeping staircase and into the master bedroom.

Her eyes landed on the framed wedding photo on the nightstand. Lucian was looking at the camera with a blank expression. Tessa let out a short, hollow laugh. She reached out and slapped the silver frame face down against the wood.

She walked into the massive walk-in closet and pulled open the bottom drawer of the mahogany dresser. Underneath a pile of winter scarves lay a copy of their prenuptial agreement. The edges of the thick paper were slightly yellowed.

Tessa carried the document to the writing desk. She picked up a heavy fountain pen. She flipped to the page detailing the waiver of spousal support. Pressing the nib hard against the paper, she drew a thick, black line straight through the clause. The sharp metal tip tore right through the parchment.

Another wave of agony radiated from her abdomen. She gripped the edge of the desk, bending forward as cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She forced herself to breathe through the pain, counting the seconds until the spasm passed.

When she could stand upright again, she picked up her phone and dialed Lily's number.

"Tessa!" Lily's cheerful voice filled the speaker. "Are we still on for brunch this weekend? I found this amazing new place in Soho."

"I am divorcing Lucian," Tessa said. Her voice was completely flat.

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. The silence stretched for three seconds.

"I need you to do something for me," Tessa continued, not giving her friend time to process. "Contact that exclusive escort agency you mentioned last month. The one the Wall Street wives use. I want their most expensive male model."

"Tessa, what are you talking about?" Lily gasped. "Are you out of your mind? Lucian will destroy you if he finds out."

Tessa looked at her own pale reflection in the vanity mirror. "Book him, Lily. Tonight."

She hung up the phone and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The manicured lawns stretched out toward the ocean, green and perfect and suffocating. Her eyes were dead.

She turned to the closet and began pulling Lucian's bespoke suits off their hangers. She threw them onto the hardwood floor, one after another, watching the expensive fabric pile up like trash.

She walked over to her own section and pulled out a black silk slip dress. It was thin, revealing, and something she had never dared to wear around her conservative husband. She tossed it onto the center of the pristine white bed.

Her phone vibrated. Lily had sent an encrypted link.

Tessa tapped it. A sleek black webpage loaded, displaying profiles of men. She bypassed the descriptions and scrolled straight to the highest price tag. A man named Jax.

The system prompted her for a deposit. Tessa opened her wallet and pulled out the black limitless credit card Lucian had given her on their wedding day. She typed in the numbers.

A green checkmark appeared on the screen. Payment confirmed.

Tessa dropped the phone on the mattress and walked into the master bathroom. She turned the shower handle all the way to cold. The freezing water hit her skin like tiny needles, washing away the lingering scent of the hospital. She watched the water swirl down the drain, taking the last of her hesitation with it.

She stepped out, wrapped a thick towel around her body, and walked back into the bedroom. She picked up the small prescription bottle Lily had prepared for her from the nightstand. She tipped two white tablets into her palm.

She stared out at the darkening sky, placed the pills on her tongue, and swallowed them dry. A cold smile touched the corners of her mouth.