Late that afternoon, my phone lights up with a text from Elena: I told him I won't go to Singapore. He's furious. Meet me—Hotel rooftop bar, 9 PM.
My stomach lurches. She confronted him already? That's either gutsy or reckless. Probably both. I wait until after work and make my way downtown.
The hotel's rooftop bar is nearly empty, the city skyline a glittering backdrop. Elena waits at a corner table, swirling a glass of wine. The raw tension in her face knocks the breath out of me.
"I told him I refuse to relocate," she says, skipping all greetings. "He threatened to cut off my cards, demanded an explanation."
A swirl of nausea hits me. "What did you say?"
She exhales sharply, eyes glistening with pent-up emotion. "I told him I'm tired of being treated like an accessory. He said I can stay behind if I want, but… he made it clear there'd be consequences."
It's a huge "WTF" moment. She's basically declared war on her powerful husband. "Elena, are you sure—"
She sets the glass down with a trembling hand. "No. But I know I can't go on living this lie. If he leaves, maybe… maybe I can vanish." Her eyes meet mine, uncertain but desperate. "If you want to vanish with me."