The cliffside glass restaurant looked like a high-altitude aquarium floating above the Atlantic. Rules flashed on the central monitor: Twelve minutes. Cross the floor. Approach your assigned stranger. Secure contact data and a genuine concession. Zero reference to matrimony, corporate equity, or shared history.
I sat near the eastern balcony arch, sipping sparkling water from a heavy crystal tumbler, watching Dominic walk toward his assigned table across the room like a tactical sniper in a charcoal Tom Ford suit. He didn't look at me. Not once.
Ten minutes later, the buzzer chimed.
I set my glass down, keeping my posture crisp and polite as I watched my husband navigate the floor. Dominic didn't drift. He cut straight through the middle aisle, shoulders squared, wearing that exact pred
