Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress

The waiting room of Sterling & Associates in Midtown Manhattan was quiet, smelling of leather and intimidation.

Jada sat in a plush armchair, wearing large sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the photo of Darius holding Hazel's hand.

Darius was late. Typical power move. Or maybe he was with Hazel.

Across the room, near the reception desk, a drama was unfolding. A young woman, no older than twenty-five, was sobbing into a tissue. A man in a flashy, ill-fitting suit stood over her, checking his phone with an air of annoyance.

"Stop crying, Sarah. You knew this wasn't working," the man said loudly.

"You promised you'd try!" the woman wailed. "You said if I lost the weight, if I quit my job..."

"You're making a scene," the man hissed. He grabbed her arm to pull her up from the chair. "Get up."

Jada watched them. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror. The dynamics were the same. The cruelty was the same.

The man yanked the woman's arm harder. The woman whimpered.

Jada stood up before she thought. Her body moved on its own. She walked across the room.

Smack.

She slapped the man's hand away from the woman's arm.

"She's not a dog," Jada said, her voice icy. "Don't touch her."

The man recoiled, surprised. He looked at Jada, sneering. "Mind your business, lady."

"It is my business," Jada said, stepping between him and the crying girl. "I know exactly what a coward looks like. And you are wearing it like a cheap cologne."

The man's face turned red. He stepped toward Jada aggressively, his hand raising as if to shove her.

Ding.

The elevator doors opened.

Darius stepped out, flanked by Harrison. He saw the confrontation immediately. He saw the man step toward Jada.

Darius moved. He covered the distance in three long strides. He stepped in front of Jada, placing his back to her, shielding her completely.

He didn't touch the man. He didn't have to. He just looked at him with that terrifying, billionaire intensity-the look that dissolved mergers and crushed competitors.

"Is there a problem?" Darius asked calmly. His voice was soft, but it carried a lethal weight.

The man froze. He looked at Darius's bespoke suit, his watch, his face. He recognized him. Everyone in New York recognized Darius Long.

The man paled. "No, sir. No problem. Just... leaving."

He grabbed his wife-gently this time-and dragged her toward the elevators. The woman looked back at Jada, mouthing a silent thank you.

Jada stared at Darius's back. The scent of his sandalwood cologne filled her nose. For a second, she felt safe. Then she remembered why they were here.

Darius turned to face her. He studied her face, looking for fear.

"You defended her," he said.

"Someone had to," Jada replied, crossing her arms. "Men like you count on women being too weak to fight back."

The insult landed. Jada saw Darius flinch internally, a subtle tightening of his eyes.

"I am not him," Darius defended, sounding offended. "I don't hit women. I provide."

"Aren't you?" Jada gestured to the conference room door. "You're just richer. You don't use your fists, Darius. You use your checkbook and your lawyers to beat people into submission."

She walked past him, entering the conference room first.

Darius stood in the lobby for a second, unsettled. The comparison gnawed at him.

Harrison stepped up, holding Darius's phone. "Sir, Hazel is calling."

Darius looked at the phone. He looked at the conference room where his wife-his ex-wife-sat waiting to mutilate herself for him.

"Send it to voicemail," Darius snapped.

He walked into the room.