The Billionaire's Wife Escapes To Antarctica

The flame from the silver lighter caught the wick of the final candle. Amy pulled her hand back. The warm light flickered across the dining table, illuminating the three-course French meal that had been sitting there for two hours. The Wagyu beef was completely cold. The fat had congealed into unappetizing white edges against the expensive porcelain plates. She turned her head and looked at the large clock on the wall. The hands pointed exactly to nine o'clock. Brigham was not here. Amy picked up her phone from the marble kitchen island. She pressed the speed dial for her husband's private number. The line rang twice before clicking over to the automated voicemail. The robotic voice filled the quiet room, sounding louder than it actually was. She ended the call. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor as she walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glittering skyline of Manhattan stretched out below her, millions of lights pulsing in the dark. A cold knot formed in her stomach. The silence of the penthouse was suffocating. The screen of her phone suddenly lit up in her hand. It was a push notification from a social media app. A special alert she had set up long ago. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Her fingertips were ice cold. She tapped the notification. A live video posted by Kade Vance filled the screen. The heavy bass of club music blasted from the small speakers, shattering the quiet of her apartment. The background of the video was the most exclusive private club in New York. Champagne towers stood tall on glass tables. Gold and black balloons floated near the ceiling. The camera panned across the crowded room and stopped right in the center. Brigham Myers was there. He was looking down, a soft smile playing on his lips. It was a smile Amy had not seen in three years of marriage. Following Brigham's gaze, the camera shifted. Giselle Leach stood there. She had just returned from Europe. Giselle was wearing a stunning white haute couture gown. Amy recognized it instantly. It was the exact dress Brigham had won at an auction just last week. He had told Amy he bought it as an investment for the company's archive. In the video, someone popped a bottle of champagne. The foam sprayed through the air. Brigham reached out and pulled Giselle by the waist, tucking her against his chest to shield her from the spray. His hand rested firmly on her hip. The caption Kade had typed across the bottom of the video burned into Amy's retinas. "Our queen is finally back. I heard he blew off some serious business to be here tonight." All the strength left Amy's fingers. The phone slipped from her hand and hit the thick wool rug with a dull thud. The music continued to play from the floor, muffled but still clear. She turned around slowly. She looked at the dining table, at the cold Wagyu beef, at the three anniversary candles burning down to the wax. The corners of her mouth twitched upward in a pathetic, self-deprecating smile. She walked back to the table. She picked up her crystal wine glass. She brought it to her lips and swallowed the red wine in one huge gulp. The alcohol burned the back of her throat, forcing down the heavy lump that was trying to choke her. A knot of ice formed in her stomach, so tight it was hard to breathe. The sudden emotional whiplash left her feeling hollowed out. She dropped the glass onto the table, wrapped her arms around her waist, and sank into the expensive dining chair. She bent forward, struggling to pull air into her lungs. The doorbell chimed. Amy's head snapped up. A tiny, stupid spark of hope flared in her chest. She pushed herself up from the chair and walked quickly to the entryway. She looked at the video intercom screen. It was not Brigham. It was the building's private butler, standing straight in his uniform. She opened the heavy door. The butler held out a small, elegant velvet box. "This is from Mr. Myers, ma'am. He sent someone to deliver it." The butler kept his eyes respectfully lowered. Amy took the box. Her fingers felt stiff, like they belonged to someone else. "Thank you." She closed the door. She stood in the entryway and opened the lid. Inside the box lay a diamond necklace. The stones were massive, catching the light from the hallway. Tucked next to the clasp was a small, printed card. It read: "Sorry, an emergency came up at work. Happy Anniversary." There was no handwritten signature. Just black ink from a printer. Amy stared at the card. The heat behind her eyes finally spilled over. Hot tears tracked down her cheeks, dropping onto the velvet interior of the box. She snapped the box shut. She turned and walked to the stainless steel trash can in the kitchen. She stepped on the pedal and dropped the box inside. The heavy velvet and the diamonds hit the bottom with a sharp clatter. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and twisted the cap off. She did not bother with a glass. Before she could take a drink, her laptop on the island chimed with a new email notification. She carried the bottle over to the computer and tapped the trackpad. The screen woke up. It was an encrypted email from the National Polar Research Center. The subject line was bold. "Notice of Acceptance: Three-Year Joint Glacier Ecology Expedition at McMurdo Station, Antarctica." Amy opened the email. She read the strict terms. The project required her to cut off all outside contact for the entire duration. She would have to leave next month. The image of Brigham's hand on Giselle's waist flashed in her mind. The sound of Kade's video echoed in her ears. The printed apology card burned in her memory. Her breathing steadied. The tears stopped. A cold, hard clarity settled over her. She set the whiskey bottle down. She placed both hands on the keyboard. She typed her reply without a single hesitation. "I accept the invitation. I am ready to leave at any time."