The Divorced Psychic's Spectacular Comeback

The Porsche descended into the private underground garage of a luxury Manhattan high-rise. Sloane led Elena to the private elevator. She pressed her thumb against the scanner, and the doors slid open. "This is your sanctuary now," Sloane said as the elevator shot up to the penthouse. The doors parted to reveal a massive, open-concept living space. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the glowing New York skyline. Sloane walked straight to the glass wine cellar. She pulled out a bottle of vintage champagne. The cork popped with a loud, celebratory crack. Elena took off her cheap beige trench coat and dropped it on a chair. Sloane handed her a black silk robe. Elena slipped it on. The cool fabric slid against her skin, instantly making her feel like a different person. They sat on the plush white sofa facing the windows. Sloane handed Elena a crystal flute. "Okay, you have to tell me," Sloane said, her eyes wide with excitement. "How did you know about the clinic? And Jett's money?" Elena swirled the golden liquid in her glass. She took a sip. "I read minds," Elena said, her face completely deadpan. Sloane burst out laughing. "Whatever. Keep your secrets. But watching Kaitlynn collapse was the best moment of my life." They clinked their glasses together. The shrill ringing of the landline phone on the kitchen island shattered the quiet atmosphere. Sloane frowned. She set her glass down and walked over to the phone. She picked up the receiver. She listened for two seconds. Her face hardened. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and looked at Elena. "It's Andrew," Sloane whispered. Elena's fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute. Andrew had used his family's connections to track down Sloane's unlisted landline. His need for control was pathological. Elena stood up. She walked over and took the phone from Sloane. She pressed it to her ear. "Why are you hiding?" Andrew's voice blasted through the speaker, thick with anger and alcohol. "I'm not hiding," Elena said, her voice smooth and bored. "I just took the trash out and didn't want to smell it anymore." Andrew breathed heavily into the phone. "Jett has a fractured rib," Andrew yelled. "He's at the hospital. And Kaitlynn is having a severe panic attack. The doctors had to give her a sedative because of your lies!" Elena let out a short, sharp laugh. "Her mental fortitude is pathetic," Elena mocked. "If she's brave enough to kill a baby, she should be brave enough to handle the truth." "She is innocent!" Andrew roared. "You will sign the papers tomorrow, and you will issue a public apology to her!" Elena stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the window. "Is your brain filled with seawater?" Elena asked. "I will sign the papers. But I will never apologize. I'm going to sit back and watch the two of you destroy each other." "You are a cold-blooded monster," Andrew spat. "You don't deserve the Macdonald name." "I don't want it," Elena said. "Starting tomorrow, I am Elena Frank again. Your name makes me sick." Elena pulled the phone away from her ear. She reached down and yanked the telephone cord straight out of the wall socket. The line went dead. The apartment was perfectly silent again. Elena dropped the receiver onto the counter. She turned around. Sloane was staring at her, her mouth slightly open. "Textbook," Sloane said, holding up her glass. "Absolutely textbook." Elena picked up her champagne. She tapped her glass against Sloane's and drank the rest of it in one swallow. Across the city, in a sterile hospital corridor, Andrew stared at his phone. The dial tone buzzed in his ear. He slammed his fist into the drywall, leaving a dent. Inside the hospital room, Kaitlynn lay in bed. Her eyes were closed. When she heard the thud against the wall, the corner of her lips curled up into a sick, satisfied smile. That night, Elena sank into the massive, soft bed in the guest room. She closed her eyes and fell asleep instantly. It was the first time in two years she didn't have a nightmare.