Rotting food. Spoiled milk. Coffee grounds soaked into something sour and unidentifiable. A stink that didn’t just belong to decay, but to intention. Whoever packed this had made sure it would announce itself.
Jordan’s throat tightened. Her hand hovered over the knot, then froze, as if her body refused to take part in the humiliation.
A laugh sliced through the moment.
“Hi,” a voice chimed, bright as a poisoned candy. “You ungrateful little wretch.”
Victoria Lancaster stepped out from behind her brother like a shadow learning how to speak. She wore cream-colored heels and a smile that never reached her eyes.
Jordan had known Victoria would be with him. Victoria never missed an opportunity to watch something break. She treated cruelty the way some people treated live theater: front row, ticket paid in advance, delighted to clap.
“It’s trash,” Victoria announced, savoring the word. “Because that’s what you’ve been living like since my brother left. At least now you have something that matches your lifestyle.”
Jordan’s fingers trembled against the bag’s slick plastic.
Not from weakness.
From the pressure of rage compressed into something quiet enough to survive.
Three months ago, Daniel had walked out. Not in a storm. Not in a fight. He’d left the way rich men leave: calmly, as if rearranging furniture.
He’d moved in with Melissa Chen, his twenty-four-year-old secretary, and then, within hours, he’d frozen the joint accounts.
Jordan had been allowed just enough access to stay alive.
Not enough to feel human.
It was a kind of control that didn’t leave bruises. It left dependencies.
Daniel stepped into the penthouse as if he still owned the oxygen. “I wanted to make sure you understand something important today.”
Jordan’s palm rested on her belly. Her daughter kicked, once, as if objecting.
“You are exactly where you belong,” Daniel continued, voice low and measured. “Pregnant. Alone. Dependent on whatever scraps I choose to give you.”
Victoria’s laughter bounced off the high ceiling, brittle as breaking glass. “Mother’s hosting family dinner tonight. But I suppose you won’t be attending. I mean, how could you? You don’t even have anything appropriate to wear anymore.”
Jordan set the bag down on the marble counter. The stench remained, blooming like a nasty flower.
She lifted her gaze. “I’ll be at dinner.”
Daniel’s eyes flickered. Not anger.
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