hapter 12: During the Business Trip "A few days" turned into two months. Riverdale was everything Northbrook wasn't-smaller, quieter, with none of the cutthroat social hierarchy that defined the world I'd married into. The renovation project for the historic Blackwell Hotel was complex enough to justify my extended stay, and I threw myself into the work with a single-minded focus that left little room for thoughts of Lucas or the mess I'd left behind. I took a suite at the Madison Inn, a charming boutique hotel overlooking the river. My days fell into a comfortable routine-mornings spent at the construction site, afternoons in meetings with contractors and artisans, evenings alone in my suite with takeout and design plans spread across the bed. Lucas messaged me every day. Sometimes simple check-ins: [How's the project going?] or [Did you eat?]. Other times, more personal: [The penthouse is too quiet without you.] or [I found your sketchbook under the sofa. Your designs for the Prescott Hotel are brilliant.] I responded to some messages, ignored others. When I did reply, I kept my answers brief and professional, as if corresponding with a distant acquaintance rather than my husband. He never pushed, never demanded more than I was willing to give. Just maintained that steady, patient communication that left the door open whenever I was ready to walk through it. I wasn't sure I'd ever be ready. Around my third week in Riverdale, I met Cassidy Bennett, a lifestyle influencer hired by the Blackwells to document the renovation for social media. She was strikingly beautiful, with copper hair and an easy confidence that immediately put people at ease. We hit it off instantly, and soon she was joining me for dinner after long days at the site, or meeting me for coffee before morning meetings. She was witty and perceptive, asking questions that cut straight to the heart of things. "So," she said one evening over wine in my suite, "are you actually some kind of heiress? Because the way you casually dropped fifty grand on those imported Italian tiles yesterday made my jaw hit the floor." I nearly choked on my wine. "What? No. I mean, my father's successful, but I'm not-" "I've seen your photos, you know," she continued, scrolling through her phone before turning the screen toward me. "A perfect match, a high-society marriage. So, how is it? Are you happy living like this?" On the screen was a photo from my wedding reception-Lucas and I in the grand ballroom of the Bailey Estate, surrounded by Northbrook's elite. We looked like the perfect couple, Lucas handsome in his tuxedo, me radiant in my designer gown. His hand rested on the small of my back, and I was looking up at him with a smile that, even then, held a hint of longing he never noticed. I didn't ask where she'd found the picture. The circle was small, and Riverdale wasn't far from Northbrook. When Lucas and I got married, plenty of his buddies had posted photos on their social media accounts, captioning them with phrases like "a match made in heaven" or "the power couple Northbrook has been waiting for." It wasn't long before Lucas had them delete those posts. He said he didn't like being so public. But I knew the real reason-he just didn't like that the person beside him was me. Happy? Maybe there were moments of happiness. But life stretches on, and hearts are made of flesh. Being constantly forgotten and overlooked-it's hard not to feel hurt. Still, at that moment, I had no interest in discussing this with Cassidy, perceptive as she was. "It's pretty good," I said. She raised an eyebrow. "Really?" I nodded. "Yeah." I gave the same answer when people from the Bailey Estate called to check on me, or when my dad did during our weekly calls. I'd said it so many times that even I started to believe it. But a lie is still a lie, and the truth has a way of finding you, even three hundred miles from home. It happened during my sixth week in Riverdale. I was having dinner with Cassidy and a few of the contractors at The Grille, a popular restaurant downtown, when her phone buzzed with a notification. "Oh my God," she gasped, staring at the screen. "Isn't this your husband?" She turned the phone toward me, and I felt my stomach drop. There on the screen was a photo of Lucas sitting across from Phoebe at what looked like an intimate dinner. Her hand was extended across the table, his fingers lightly touching hers. The headline above the image read: "BAILEY HEIR CAUGHT WITH MYSTERY BLONDE: TROUBLE IN PARADISE?" The article was from one of those gossip sites that specialized in the scandalous affairs of the wealthy and powerful. Normally, Lucas wouldn't even register on their radar-he was too careful, too private for that kind of exposure. But someone had deliberately taken this photo and leaked it. I stared at the image, trying to process what I was seeing. Lucas looked exhausted, his normally immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. Phoebe seemed concerned, her brow furrowed as she reached for him. "Autumn?" Cassidy's voice broke through my thoughts. "Are you okay?" I managed a nod, handing the phone back to her. "It's not what it looks like." "You don't have to defend him-" "No, really," I interrupted. "I know her. She's a friend." The words felt hollow, but I continued. "Lucas is probably just helping her with something. He does that-helps people." Cassidy looked skeptical but dropped the subject when she saw my expression. The rest of dinner passed in a blur, and I excused myself early, claiming a headache. Back in my suite, I searched for more information. The story had spread quickly, appearing on multiple gossip sites and social media platforms. Each version more salacious than the last, speculating about Lucas's "affair" and my "absence" from Northbrook. My phone rang-Victoria. "Have you seen it?" she asked without preamble. "Yes." "It's bullshit, right? Tell me it's bullshit." I sighed, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "It's complicated, Vic." "Complicated how? Either he's cheating or he's not." Her voice was sharp with protective anger. "He's not cheating," I said, the words automatic after years of protecting Lucas's secret. "She's someone we both know. There's a history there, but it's not what the tabloids are making it out to be." Victoria was quiet for a moment. "Then why are you hiding out in Riverdale?" "I'm not hiding. I'm working." "For two months? On a project that should have taken three weeks, tops?" She sighed. "Look, I know something's been off between you two. You can talk to me, you know." I felt tears prickling behind my eyes. "I know. I just... I need some time to figure things out." "Well, figure faster," she said, her tone softening. "Because this story is blowing up, and the vultures are circling. Reporters have been calling the studio asking for comment." My heart sank. "What did you tell them?" "To go to hell, mostly. But they're persistent. And now they know you're in Riverdale." "How?" "Someone at the Blackwell project must have tipped them off. Money talks." Great. Just what I needed-paparazzi hounding me in my temporary sanctuary. After I hung up with Victoria, I sat staring at my phone, debating whether to call Lucas. Before I could decide, it rang again. His name flashed on the screen. I hesitated, then answered. "Hello?" "Autumn." His voice was strained, exhausted. "I'm guessing you've seen the photo." "Yes." A heavy sigh. "It's not what it looks like." "You don't need to explain," I said, surprising myself with how calm I sounded. "It's fine." "It's not fine. This is exactly the kind of publicity neither of us needs right now." There was a muffled sound, as if he'd covered the phone to speak to someone else. When he returned, his voice was lower. "I wanted to warn you. The press might try to contact you." "Victoria already told me." "I'm handling it on my end," he continued. "But if they ask you anything-" "I'll say you're a faithful husband and it's all a misunderstanding," I finished for him. "Don't worry." There was a pause. "Thank you," he said finally, sounding genuinely relieved. "How's Riverdale?" The abrupt change of subject caught me off guard. "It's... fine. The project is going well." "When are you coming home?" Home. Such a simple word, yet so loaded. Was the penthouse really my home? Or just another temporary stop on the journey to somewhere else? "I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "There's still a lot to do here." Another pause. "I miss you," he said quietly. I closed my eyes, fighting the surge of emotion those three simple words evoked. "I should go. Early meeting tomorrow." "Autumn-" "Goodnight, Lucas." I hung up before he could say anything else, before my resolve could weaken any further. The next morning, as I'd feared, reporters were waiting outside the Madison Inn. I slipped out through the service entrance, texting the site foreman to meet me directly at the Blackwell Hotel rather than picking me up as usual. But by the time I arrived at the site, they'd found me there too. A small cluster of photographers and reporters surged forward as my car pulled up. "Mrs. Bailey! Can we get a comment on the photos of your husband with another woman?" "Is it true you've been separated for months?" "Are you filing for divorce?" I pushed past them without answering, head down, sunglasses firmly in place despite the overcast day. Inside, Mr. Blackwell was waiting, his normally jovial expression replaced with concern. "I'm so sorry about this circus, Autumn," he said, gesturing to the windows where we could see the reporters still hovering outside. "We can postpone today's meeting if you'd prefer." I shook my head. "No, I'd rather focus on work." Work was safe. Work didn't ask uncomfortable questions or force me to confront feelings I wasn't ready to examine. But the universe had other plans. By lunchtime, my phone was buzzing constantly with calls from unknown numbers-reporters, no doubt, trying to get a statement. I silenced it, only to have the hotel's reception desk call to inform me that the lobby was filling with press. "Ms. Edwards from the Tribune is particularly insistent," the receptionist said apologetically. "She says she just wants five minutes." I was about to refuse when a thought occurred to me. Maybe the fastest way to end this was to address it head-on. "Send her up," I said, making a split-second decision. "Just her, no photographers." Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting across from Natalie Edwards, a sharp-eyed woman in her forties with a no-nonsense demeanor that I immediately respected. "Thank you for seeing me," she said, setting a small recorder on the table between us. "May I?" I nodded, and she pressed record. "Mrs. Bailey, the photos of your husband with another woman have caused quite a stir. Would you care to comment?" I met her gaze directly. "The woman you're talking about is a friend of mine. I knew about their meeting." Natalie raised an eyebrow. "A friend?" "Yes. She works at Crawford Publishing, one of the Bailey subsidiaries. They were discussing business." "Over what looked like a very intimate dinner?" I smiled thinly. "My husband is a good man. He wouldn't do something like this." It wasn't technically a lie. Lucas wouldn't cheat-not because he was particularly virtuous, but because he didn't need to. Our agreement had always been clear: in two years, he'd be free to be with Phoebe openly. Natalie studied me for a moment, clearly trying to decide if I was being truthful or simply saving face. "And your extended stay in Riverdale? Some are suggesting you left because of marital problems." "I'm here overseeing a major renovation project," I said, gesturing to the blueprints spread across the nearby desk. "It's taking longer than anticipated, that's all." She nodded, making a note in her small pad. "One last question, Mrs. Bailey. Are you happy in your marriage?" The question caught me off guard with its simplicity. Was I happy? Had I ever been? "My husband and I have a strong relationship built on mutual respect and understanding," I said carefully. "Beyond that, I consider our private life to be exactly that-private." Natalie smiled, seemingly satisfied with my non-answer. She switched off the recorder and stood to leave. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bailey. I appreciate your candor." After she left, I sat for a long time staring out the window at the gray Riverdale sky. My phone buzzed with a text from Lucas. [I saw what you said to the Tribune reporter. Thank you.] I didn't respond. That evening, I booked a flight back to Northbrook. Not because I was ready to face Lucas or the situation I'd been avoiding, but because running away hadn't solved anything. The press would follow me wherever I went, and the Blackwell project was suffering from the constant interruptions. It was time to go back and face reality, whatever that might be. As I packed my suitcase, my phone rang again-Lucas, for the third time that day. This time, I answered. "I'm coming home," I said without preamble. There was a pause, then: "When?" "Tomorrow afternoon." "I'll pick you up at the airport." "That's not necessary-" "Please," he interrupted, his voice unusually earnest. "Let me do this." I hesitated, then relented. "Fine." "Autumn?" he said, just as I was about to hang up. "Yes?" "About that photo with Phoebe..." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "She came to me downstairs at the company, said she wanted to repay me some money, and have one last meal together." I thought about the people bustling around me at the airport, the scrutiny we'd face when I returned. "How could you be so careless? Getting photographed just having a meal. Sigh." Lucas was silent for a moment. Then, quietly: "I think it was deliberate. Someone's trying to cause trouble." I looked at the half-packed suitcase on my bed, suddenly feeling very tired. "Congratulations, you got what you wanted." "What do you mean?" "I saw that photo of you and Phoebe too. It's funny-it looks better than the one on our marriage certificate. I remember now, on the day we got our license, the staff asked you to smile, but you couldn't even manage that." The words came out before I could stop them, bitter and revealing. "Lucas Bailey, let's go get our divorce papers in a few days." "What?" His shock was evident even through the phone. "As for when to announce it publicly, that's up to you. I can wait." There was a long pause on the other end. I heard the flick of a lighter-he was smoking again, something he only did when truly stressed. Lucas's voice was low and heavy when he finally spoke. "Do you have to bring this up at a time like this?" "Yes." His breath caught for a moment. "We'll talk about it later." "Fine," I agreed, knowing 'later' might never come if I could help it. "Goodnight, Lucas." I hung up and finished packing, my mind made up. It was time to end this charade once and for all.