The 99th Voucher-His Maybach's Secret

The stiff edges of the two Grand Marquis penthouse room keys dug into my palm. I tossed them onto the passenger seat of my Honda.

At exactly 11:45 a.m., I pulled into the VIP arrivals lane at Terminal 3.

A sleek, matte-black Maybach glided to a stop two car lengths ahead of me. Julian’s car.

The passenger door swung open. A woman stepped onto the concrete curb.

Serena.

Five years ago, she dumped Julian because his tech startup could not afford her lifestyle. She tossed his cheap engagement ring into a storm drain and walked away. Now, she wore a tailored Chanel suit and oversized sunglasses, looking every bit the wealthy socialite she always wanted to be.

Julian climbed out of the driver’s seat. He did not look like a man who just flew in from a grueling conference. He looked rested. Smug, even.

As Serena turned her head to laugh at something Julian said, the midday sunlight hit her neck. A dark, bruised cluster of red marred the pale skin just below her jawline.

A hickey.

He had not been working in San Francisco. He had been playing.

I squeezed the leather steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. My pulse pounded against my temples, but I did not scream. A strange, cold calm washed over me. I had the hotel cards. Now I had the visual confirmation.

I pushed my car door open and slammed it shut.

"Julian," I called out, keeping my voice bright and even.

He flinched. His shoulders jerked up, and he spun around. The color drained from his face instantly.

"Clara," he stammered, stepping quickly away from Serena. "You're early."

"Traffic was light," I said, closing the distance between us. I stopped three feet away, letting my gaze drift from his panicked eyes to Serena’s smirk. "I thought you were at the office preparing for the board call."

"I was," he lied, his voice cracking slightly. "I decided to come personally. To ensure a smooth transition."

"In your own car?" I asked, tilting my head. "I thought she was flying in."

"She did," Julian said quickly. He adjusted his silver watch, a nervous tic I knew too well. "I picked her up from the private tarmac. We drove over to this terminal to meet you."

"Private tarmac?" I echoed. "Since when does the company charter private flights for consultants?"

"It was a necessary expense," Julian said, his jaw tight. "We need her fresh for the merger negotiations."

"Right. Because commercial first-class is so draining."

"Clara, stop," he hissed, glancing around at the passing travelers. "Don't make a scene."

"I'm just asking questions about the company budget," I replied calmly. "As a founder."

Serena pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. Her gaze raked over my faded jeans and plain gray sweater.

"Julian, is this the assistant you mentioned?" Serena asked. Her tone dripped with fake innocence.

"Clara is my wife," Julian muttered, staring at the concrete pavement.

"Oh." Serena smiled. She did not look surprised at all. "The silent partner. Right."

"Serena is our new strategic consultant," Julian said, forcing a professional tone. He gestured awkwardly between us. "Serena, Clara."

"Nice to meet you," I said. I kept my hands at my sides.

"Wish I could say the same," Serena replied. She adjusted the collar of her silk blouse, making absolutely sure I got a clear view of the purple-red bruise on her neck. "I'm exhausted. The turbulence over the Rockies was brutal."

"Is that where you got the bruise?" I asked.

Julian choked on his spit. He coughed violently, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

Serena let out a sharp, amused laugh. "I bruise easily. Julian knows that."

Julian stopped coughing. He glared at her, a silent warning passing between them.

I watched the exchange. Five years ago, Julian wept on our ratty living room sofa for a week after she left him for a hedge fund manager. I paid his rent. I built his software. I made him a king.

Now, he was acting as her personal chauffeur.

"What exactly will the consultant be doing?" I asked, turning my attention back to my husband.

"Mergers and acquisitions," Julian said, loosening his tie. "She has a vast network."

"I didn't realize hedge fund contacts translated to tech architecture," I said.

Serena stepped forward, invading my personal space. "Tech is just a product. Selling it requires charm. Something Julian said the company currently lacks."

"Julian told me you prefer the shadows," Serena continued, echoing his exact words from last night. "It's better that way. Some women just don't have the face for the spotlight."

"I see." I reached into my pocket, pulling out voucher ninety-eight. I held the thick parchment paper up in the sunlight. "Well, I'm here to fulfill the request. Where does the consultant need to go?"

"The corporate apartment downtown," Julian said. He refused to meet my eyes again. "I need to get back to the office. I'll leave her in your hands."

"You're leaving me with her?" Serena pouted, stepping closer to Julian. Her arm brushed intentionally against his suit sleeve.

"I have a company to run," he said, stepping back to break the contact. "Clara will take care of you."

Julian turned and walked briskly toward the terminal entrance, eager to escape the tension. He did not look back once.

I turned my attention to Serena.

She stood beside a massive, metallic-silver suitcase. A limited-edition Rimowa. The price tag on that specific model hovered around a hundred thousand dollars.

"My car is parked in the short-term lot," I said, pointing across the busy lane.

Serena did not move. She stared at me, a victorious gleam in her dark eyes.

"Grab the handle," she ordered.

"Excuse me?"

"You're here to help me settle in, aren't you?" She shoved the heavy aluminum case toward me. The wheels scraped loudly against the pavement, stopping inches from my boots.

"I'm here to drive you," I corrected. "I'm not a bellhop."

"Julian said you were a team player." She crossed her arms over her chest. "He also said you handle all the heavy lifting behind the scenes. So, lift."

I looked at the ridiculous suitcase, then back at her smug face.

The tight knot in my chest unraveled. The heat in my blood cooled into ice. I was not losing a husband today. I was gathering ammunition. The sheer audacity of her entitlement sparked a genuine smile on my lips.

"Fine," I said. I reached out and grabbed the cold metal handle. "I'll load it."

Serena stepped closer. Her perfume overpowered the smell of jet fuel and exhaust. The exact same synthetic vanilla and aggressive jasmine from Julian's shirt last night.

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Put this suitcase in the car, be careful, inside is the property deed Julian bought me last night for $500,000."