Chapter 2

After the banquet, Ben drove me back to the penthouse himself.

The moment we entered, he took off his jacket and draped a cashmere shawl over my shoulders, wearing the same gentle expression that had deceived me for seven years.

"It's cold outside. You should have worn more."

He warmed a glass of milk and placed it in my hands.

"Don't let those reporters upset you. None of what happened tonight changes us."

If I hadn't overheard him speaking to his attorney, I might have believed him again.

"You felt like a stranger tonight," I said, letting the right amount of hurt enter my voice.

Ben sat beside me and pulled me against his chest.

"Claire is a business arrangement. Once her family releases the funds, I'll end it. You're the only woman I want."

His hand moved soothingly along my back. Then, less than five minutes later, he finally asked the question that mattered to him.

"How much work is left on the final dome design? The board wants it before tomorrow's technical review."

"Several key calculations are still incomplete," I said. "After what happened tonight, I couldn't concentrate."

Irritation flashed across his face before he concealed it.

"Take your time, baby. Just make sure I have the complete file tomorrow morning."

His phone vibrated on the table. Claire's name appeared on the screen.

Ben took the call into the study and closed the door. I didn't need to press my ear against it. One sentence carried clearly through the silence when he raised his voice.

"Once she finishes the design, she'll be out of our lives."

A few minutes later, he returned with an apologetic smile.

"The board was asking about the project again. Get some rest. Tomorrow is important for both of us." He kissed my forehead before going to bed, as if nothing between us had changed.

"Of course," I said.

I went to the guest room and locked the door. The moment I was alone, the hurt disappeared from my face.

I backed up the original drawings, my mother's research, and seven years of dated correspondence.

Then I removed Harper Group's access to the unfinished dome file and sent copies of the records to the attorney I had contacted during the banquet.

On my laptop, I created a folder labeled HARPER GRAND - FINAL DOME DESIGN.

From a distance, it looked ready to deliver. In reality, it contained only the incomplete version Ben had already seen. The final calculations remained encrypted in my private archive.

After midnight, I returned to the bedroom. Ben was asleep, one hand resting beside the black briefcase on the floor.

I opened it carefully.

Beneath the documents for tomorrow's review lay a divorce agreement.

The proposed signing date was the following day—the day of the hotel’s ribbon-cutting ceremony.

Ben had planned everything precisely.

The agreement required me to surrender any claim to the hotel's design, remain silent about our seven-year marriage, and leave without taking a single drawing or manuscript.

In return, he offered a small payment disguised as generosity.

The stated reason for the divorce was worse:

Irreconcilable differences caused by Ava Morgan's emotional instability.

He intended to take my work and destroy my credibility before I could fight for it.

I didn't tear up the agreement. I photographed every page, returned it to the briefcase, and sent the images to my attorney.

Then I booked the earliest flight out of the city and forwarded my independent restoration proposal to Adrian Vale-the investor who had watched me so carefully at the banquet.

Ben had already written the ending of our marriage.

He had simply forgotten that I was the one who had designed everything leading to it.