Chapter 1

As my husband raised a glass to his ex-girlfriend’s promotion, I was on my knees at his feet, blotting red wine out of our wool rug.

"To Vivian."

Ethan raised his crystal glass with a warm smile, his eyes filled with unabashed admiration.

"An ambitious woman should never make herself smaller for anyone."

The paper towel trembling in my hand almost tore.

Two years ago, when I received my promotion letter to lead our firm's London expansion, that wasn’t what he told me.

That night, he had rested a heavy hand over mine as I packed my suitcase, his voice thick with raw emotion as he reminded me that his mother had just come out of open-heart surgery, that someone had to hold down the home front.

"Claire, London will always be there. We’re a family."

I had believed in his vision for us.

I declined the overseas posting, turned in my resignation, and packed my awards, portfolios, and files into a cardboard box.

He promised me that the moment his mother was fully recovered, we would sit down and map out my career all over again.

That cardboard box was still rotting in a dark corner of our basement.

"Claire?"

Vivian looked down at me, the needle-thin heel of her designer pump shifting half an inch away. "I’m so clumsy, I'm terribly sorry. Do you want a hand with that?"

Her fingers remained wrapped firmly around her wine glass. She didn't even bend her knees.

"Don't worry about it," Ethan cut in smoothly on my behalf. "She’ll have it handled in a second."

I squeezed the wine-soaked towel tight and got back to my feet.

Down the length of the dining table sat the Beef Wellington I had slaved over all afternoon, surrounded by flowers I had handpicked and a custom cake I had driven across town to pick up.

Ethan had told me this morning that a few old college buddies were stopping by for a casual bite.

It wasn't until Vivian walked through the front door in her signature red-bottom heels that I realized tonight was her promotion celebration.

Vivian slid her arm through Ethan’s, her smile radiant. "I never would have landed this role without Ethan. He stayed up until two in the morning tearing my resume apart and rebuilding it. He cared more than my own partners did."

Someone down the table chuckled. "No wonder Ethan's been claiming he had to work late every night for the past few weeks."

"Oh, that's nothing. Last Thursday, during our mock interview, he stayed with her until the restaurant closed."

Last Thursday.

The day of the torrential downpour, when I spent the entire afternoon at the hospital taking my mother-in-law through an exhaustive round of checkups.

I had texted him asking if he could swing by and drive us home.

He messaged back saying he was pinned down with international clients and couldn't step away, telling me to just call an Uber.

His elderly mother and I had stood shivering in the biting rain for forty agonizing minutes waiting for a car.

"Last Thursday?" I looked Ethan dead in the eye. "You told me you were closing a deal over dinner."

The smile on Ethan’s face tightened. "I was dealing with work over dinner."

"Dealing with work until the restaurant closed its doors just to run mock interviews with her?"

The lively chatter around the table died down instantly.

Vivian let go of his arm, letting out a soft sigh. "Claire, please don't get the wrong idea. The competition for this role was brutal. Ethan was the only one I could turn to."

Ethan rested his hand against the back of Vivian's chair, his brow furrowing deep. "Claire, she worked herself to the bone for this director seat."

"I know," I replied evenly. "And two years ago, did I work any less for London?"

Ethan glanced at the uneasy faces of our guests. When he spoke, his voice was a low, stern warning. "Enough. Tonight is not the time or place to dig up ancient history."

"Then when is? When I’ve completely squandered my youth?"

Seeing the suffocating tension, Ethan picked up an empty, half-eaten plate from the table and thrust it right against my chest.

"Clear the table and brew two pots of black tea in the kitchen," he commanded, his tone frost-bitten and leaving no room for argument. "Don't ruin someone else's milestone."

The hard porcelain edge pressed heavily against my wrist.

Around the table, our guests hastily looked away.

I took the cold plate without another word and turned toward the kitchen.

Behind me, the room immediately erupted with Ethan’s warm, attentive laughter as he asked Vivian how the skyline view from her new corner office looked.

I twisted the faucet, letting the warm stream wash the sticky red residue from my fingers.

Inside my apron pocket, my phone buzzed.

I pulled it out. A direct message lit up the screen from my former boss, Megan:

Claire, we're restructuring the strategy team in Seattle, and I need a seasoned director to run it. Are you ready to come back and talk?

Through the sliding door, Ethan's booming toast echoed from the living room: "To your new beginning!"

I shut off the tap, dried my hands, and quietly tapped open Megan’s chat.