She didn't confront him. Instead, she changed into simple clothes, took one of the estate cars, and drove to the part of the city where people went to forget.
The Midnight Cask was a bar for the quietly desperate. Dark wood, low lighting, bourbon that cost more than most people's rent. Luna slid into a booth in the back and ordered the strongest wine on the menu.
"Bad day?" the bartender asked, setting down a glass of something deep red.
"Bad life," she murmured.
She drank. The wine was bitter, but it burned away the sharper edges of the betrayal. Was it betrayal? They had a contract, not a marriage. He owed her nothing.
But he'd kept her paper crane. He'd whispered secrets by a koi pond. He'd looked at her like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve, not a transaction to manage.
She ordered another glass. Then another.
Memories flickered: her mother's cold voice. "Emotions are inelegant." Jett's laughter. "You're limited edition!" Leo's fingers hovering near her cheek. "My weakness might be you."
Lies. All of it.
Her phone buzzed. Leo. She ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.
The fourth time, she answered.
"Where are you?" His voice was tight.
"Out."
"Luna, it's midnight. Zara tracked your phone. The Midnight Cask? Are you drunk?"
"Getting there." She took another sip. "How was your late meeting?"
A pause. "What?"
"Elara looks lovely in photographs. Very… hands-on."
Another, longer pause. "Who sent you photographs?"
"A friend." She said the word like poison. "Don't worry, husband. I understand. It's just business, right? Everything is."
"Luna, listen to me. Come home. We'll talk."
"I don't want to talk." Her voice broke. "I just want to not feel like a fool for once."
She hung up. Ordered another drink.