Chapter 2

I yanked my arm out of his grip and took a step back.

"No," I said. "Go take care of Cynthia. She can't stand the sight of blood."

Arthur snapped out of his daze and looked toward the sofa.

Cynthia was pale as a sheet, clutching her chest, playing the part of someone about to faint.

He looked back at me, his eyes a tangled mess of panic and fury.

Finally, as if deliberately trying to provoke a reaction, he gritted his teeth.

"Fine. If that's how it is, Cynthia takes the master bedroom on the second floor. It's closer to my study. If she needs anything, I'll be right there."

I nodded. "Alright. Whatever you think is best. I'll move to the guest room on the first floor."

Arthur's face went completely slack.

He hauled the trembling Cynthia up, practically dragging her toward the spiral staircase.

Only when their footsteps faded did Lucas and Chloe crowd around me.

"Mom, why are you doing this?" Chloe asked, her voice thick with tears. "Look at what you're forcing Dad to do!"

Lucas pointed a finger straight at me.

"Dad got you out of the sanatorium. He even transferred his shares to your name. Why are you torturing him? Are you not going to stop until the Sterlings are the laughingstock of New York?"

I ignored them. Pressing my good hand over my bleeding arm, I turned and walked toward the most secluded guest room on the first floor.

Outside, I heard them pounding on the door. Every "Why?" slammed against my eardrums.

I leaned against the door, slowly sliding down until I hit the cold floor.

Why?

I wanted to ask them why, too.

When I had just given birth to Lucas, still bleeding and recovering in a hospital bed, Arthur was already entangled with Cynthia.

At first, I hypnotized myself into believing he was just taking care of his late friend's widow.

Until Chloe's first birthday gala. I pushed open the door to the lounge and saw them kissing in the corner.

That night, Arthur grabbed my hand, used a letter opener to pierce his own chest, and swore he was wrong.

He said he had drank too much whiskey. He said he mistook her for me.

But later, the scent of Cynthia's perfume constantly lingered on his suits.

Until the day I saw the fresh hickey beneath his collar.

I lost my mind. I smashed everything in the house. And in the ensuing physical struggle, as he shoved me away to protect her, I lost my third child.

Watching the blood snake down my thighs, I cried and begged Arthur to call an ambulance.

But he just took off his coat, wrapped it around Cynthia—whose face I had scratched—and walked away without looking back.

When I woke up in the hospital, I handed Arthur divorce papers.

I had braved the mockery of high society to marry him, bringing the last of the Hayes family resources with me to build his empire.

I thought I could leave with nothing. All I wanted were my children and my parents' ashes.

But what did he say back then?