Anye Meets Her Best Friend

Chapter 2: Anaya Meets Her Best Friend

She wiped her eyes at the laundry machine, twice, because tears kept coming back. She had returned to the laundry room so none of them would see.

Glenn. The man I've been in love with since I was nineteen.

She pressed her lips together and let herself feel it for exactly thirty seconds — the humiliation, the shock, the sick twist in her chest — and then she straightened up.

"I am Anaya Almera Galenka," she said quietly, to the washing machine. "My parents are gone but I am still a Galenka. The Galenka name built half this country's commerce. You do not cry over cheating men, Anaya. You get up. You stand straight." She pressed one hand to her belly. "Remember who's counting on you."

She exhaled.

"All right. Let's start the game. But first — the OB-GYN. Because whatever your father is, I still love you." She smoothed her hand across the swell of her stomach, which had taken on the impressive roundness of a ripe melon.

The house was empty by the time she hung the last of the laundry. Everyone had scattered to wherever they went during the day.

She went upstairs, changed into a floral mini dress — pastel, off-shoulder, above the knee — and considered herself in the mirror. Her stomach made the dress work in ways the designer hadn't intended, but she wasn't self-conscious. She was twenty-three years old, taller than most women she knew, and she owned three cars outright, all registered in her name alone.

"Beautiful and worth a fortune," she told her reflection. "And apparently that wasn't enough to make you faithful."

She drove herself to the International Women's and Children's Hospital — the best OB-GYN in the city, where she'd been coming since she first confirmed the pregnancy. She checked in, rounded the corner toward the maternity ward—

And stopped.

Glenn was there.

He had one arm around a woman. Office clothes, tight blouse, professional pencil skirt. His hand was at her waist, thumb pressing into the fabric.

Her heart didn't break. Something stranger happened — it went very, very still.

So this is how far it's gone. You drove your pregnant mistress to her prenatal checkup while your pregnant wife took a cab.

She didn't cry. She found a chair behind a large potted fern and sat down.

That's Zara Adele. Gina's best friend. The widow. The one who's been coming around the house for months with her sad eyes and her long legs, claiming she needed company while she grieved.

She already knew the stomach was visible under Zara's blazer. The swell was small but unmistakable. Two months, maybe.

Is that Glenn's?

She already knew the answer.

She pulled out her phone, propped it against her purse, framed the angle carefully, and waited. Thirty minutes. Glenn and Zara emerged from the examination room together — he had his hand in the small of her back — and Anaya filmed all of it from behind her fern.

So you want to play games with a Galenka. Interesting choice.

She put her phone away, walked to the front desk, and smiled at the receptionist. Her name was called two minutes later.

After her appointment, she drove to the beauty salon.

"Well, well, well." Rachel Anjani looked up from behind the reception counter. "What does Mrs. Pradipa want with my humble establishment?"

The moment Rachel said it — that name, that stupid name she'd taken on voluntarily — Anaya's face crumpled.

She hadn't meant to. She'd been holding it together all morning.

"I need to talk," she managed. "I can't breathe."

Rachel came around the counter instantly. "God — Anaya, you're actually crying. Come on, back office, now — I don't need the whole salon seeing this."

She pushed a box of tissues across her desk and very gently rubbed her hand over the enormous belly.

"This thing is huge. How far along are you?"

"Five months." Anaya blew her nose. "The doctor says the baby is measuring large. Too much amniotic fluid. I look like I'm having twins."

"You really do. Seven months, easy. Does it hurt?"

"It's heavy. Sometimes I can't take a deep breath." She set the tissue box aside. "When are you getting married, Rachel?"

"Me?" Rachel waved a hand. "We're twenty-three. You should still be enjoying being single. You were the one who was so determined to—" She gestured at the belly. "Well. Here we are."

Anaya laughed. Which was something, at least. Then the laugh went wrong and she was crying again.

"Tell me what happened," Rachel said, quiet now.

Anaya handed her the phone.

Rachel looked at her, looked at the phone, and opened the photo gallery. She scrolled. She stopped. Her hand tightened slowly into a fist.

Anaya took the phone back — she couldn't stand to hear Glenn's voice coming out of her own speaker — and pressed it face-down on the desk.

"Help me file for divorce. As fast as possible. You heard it yourself — one month. He's going to marry Zara in one month. I want to be there when he does. I want to show up."

Rachel was already reaching for her own phone. "I'm calling Vance. He'll drop everything."

"Are you two..." Anaya looked at her.

Rachel's cheeks went red. She nodded.

"I knew it. Since university — the whole cat-and-mouse thing. He chased, you played hard to get." Anaya wiped her eyes. "So why aren't you married yet?"

"We're engaged, actually—"

"You're engaged? You didn't invite me?"

"You were in the hospital! You had that terrible dehydration from the morning sickness. I told Glenn — I told him to pass it along, I thought he would—"

"Five months ago?"

"About that. Why?"

"Did you tell him at the hospital or at home?"

Rachel thought back. "At home. I was surprised, actually — Zara was there already, opening the door like it was her house. Glenn had his hand around her waist but he let go when he saw me."

Silence.

"So they've been at it since the beginning," Anaya said. "Our marriage was seven months old."

"Don't cry. Vance is almost here, I already texted." Rachel pulled her into a side hug. "But listen — the house and the company both have security cameras, you said?"

"They think the only cameras are the front door and the lobby at work." Anaya straightened. "Before we got married I had miniature cameras installed in a dozen places. I know they don't know about them."

"Good. We'll pull the footage." Rachel's phone buzzed. "See? There he is. Give me two seconds."

She came back with Vance Anggara on her arm — tall, dark-suited, already scanning the room with a lawyer's measuring eye.

"You remember Anaya," Rachel said. "She needs a divorce."

Vance sat across from her. "Why do you want a divorce? You used to chase that man everywhere." He glanced at her belly. "Doesn't seem like the best timing."

Rachel's palm connected with his forearm at speed.

"Ow—"

"Stop being a lawyer and start being a human being. This is her problem, not a deposition."

"All right. Sorry." He straightened his jacket. "Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning. Evidence?"

Anaya laid it out: the conversation she'd overheard at breakfast, the hospital footage she'd filmed that morning, the marks on Glenn's chest she'd discovered the night before. She walked Vance through all of it, then handed him the phone.

"Can you have the divorce filed in less than thirty days?"

"I also need help recovering the company," she added. "I want them to understand what their actual position is in my life."

"Slow down for now," Vance said. "While we're gathering evidence, you play innocent. Hold it together, don't tip your hand. If Glenn suspects you know, he'll make the divorce messy."

"Can you pull the hidden CCTV footage?" Rachel asked him.

"I'll send someone to both locations tomorrow — posing as maintenance. They won't need to go near anything that looks suspicious. Three days and we'll have the full record."

Anaya nodded slowly. "I want to sell the cars. All three. But quietly — no alarm bells."

"Doable." Vance thought for a moment. "Tell them it's a fleet upgrade. Cars due for replacement. When did you buy them?"

"Before the wedding. All three are registered to me personally."

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