Chapter 5
On Friday evening, the penthouse floor of the Boston financial district skyscraper was blazing with light.
Vivian's new corner office boasted floor-to-ceiling windows with an unobstructed view of the Charles River.
A champagne tower shimmered under the modern chandelier, and the room smelled of expensive perfume and aged cigars.
Every corner hummed with the ruthless thrill of ambition and capital—the very future that had been within my grasp two years ago, before I handed it away with my own two hands.
"Congratulations, Vivian," Ethan said, champagne flute in hand, looking at her with pride. "A director's office before thirty. You earned every bit of this."
Vivian took a sip, her gaze drifting toward me where I stood silently in the corner.
She glided over with her glass. "Claire, I’m so glad you could make it. I usually only see you around the house; it’s a rare treat seeing you dressed up like this."
The tailored suit she was wearing was almost identical to the designer set hanging in my closet—the one I had purchased two years ago and never had the chance to wear.
Before I could answer, a man in a charcoal suit standing nearby turned his head, his eyes widening in surprise. "Wait… are you Claire Vaughn? Former Strategy Lead at Ogilvy?"
I blinked, recognizing him as David, an investment director I had sparred with at an industry summit years ago.
"It's me, David. Long time no see."
David looked me up and down with genuine curiosity, then glanced between Ethan and Vivian.
"It really is you! Two years ago, your team's London pitch swept three international awards. We all assumed you were off to conquer Europe—and then you vanished into thin air. Half the industry was asking why you walked away."
A tight knot formed in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak.
Ethan instantly stepped half a pace in front of me, wrapping a casual, possessive arm around my shoulder, and gave David an easy smile.
"Claire really prioritizes work-life balance. Rather than living out of a suitcase on red-eye flights to London, she preferred a steady, comfortable rhythm at home. We all have different priorities, right?"
He tossed it off so smoothly, so practiced, like a line he had rehearsed in front of the mirror a hundred times.
Vivian chimed in softly, "It's true. Having someone like Ethan take such good care of you is something most women would envy."
A steady life? Preferring domestic bliss?
The four grueling weeks of all-nighters I pulled for that pitch, the night I broke down weeping over my half-packed suitcase when the offer came through—in Ethan's mouth, it was reduced to nothing more than a lazy retreat into comfort.
I shrugged Ethan’s heavy arm off my shoulder and took half a step back.
David and several nearby partners turned their attention entirely toward us.
Ethan scowled, shooting me a sharp glare that warned me not to make a scene.
I looked straight at David, my voice clear and measured, cutting clean through the low jazz music. "David, I didn't walk away from the London project because I preferred a quiet life at home."
The chatter in our corner of the lounge faded away.
"Two years ago, one week before my flight, after all my visas were approved, Ethan's mother suffered a sudden heart attack and needed major surgery. She required around-the-clock care. Ethan begged me to stay behind, telling me someone in the family had to sacrifice, and that as soon as she recovered, I could step right back into my career."
I looked at the rigid profile of Ethan’s jaw, delivering each word with deliberate precision. "I didn't leave because I was burnt out. I stayed behind to nurse his mother."
The polite grin on David’s face froze, replaced by an awkward, assessing look.
The people around him exchanged loaded glances, none of them daring to speak.
Vivian’s hand froze around her glass, and she bit her lower lip in sheer mortification.
A deep red flush crept up Ethan's neck, the vein at his temple pulsing, but he held onto his gentleman's mask with a white-knuckle grip. He forced a strained chuckle. "Pardon us, everyone. My wife has been dealing with quite a bit of anxiety lately. If you'll excuse us."
His fingers clamped around my wrist like a vice, and he hauled me out of the ballroom before I could say another word.
Neither of us spoke on the drive back. The suffocating tension inside the car was thick enough to choke on.
The second we crossed the threshold, Ethan slammed the front door shut and whipped his leather briefcase violently against the entryway console.
"Claire, what the hell was that tonight?!"
He spun around, his chest heaving, his voice dropping into a vicious hiss.
"David sits on the board of several of the biggest private equity funds in Boston! Vivian's entire foundation in this new role depends on the network in that room tonight! Did you really have to humiliate me in front of every single partner, making me look like some selfish, cold-blooded monster who crushes his wife's career?"
"That is exactly what you are." I hung my coat on the stand and turned to face him. "Ethan, when you lied to their faces tonight, did you feel even a second of guilt?"
"I was protecting the dignity of this family!" Ethan barked a bitter laugh. "You act like taking care of my mother was some humiliating burden! Have I ever shortchanged you on the allowance I give you? Has this house ever lacked for anything?"
"I never asked for your allowance; I asked for the promise you made me." I held his gaze coldly. "Yet you feel humiliated the second the truth is spoken out loud."
"The truth is you're ungrateful and greedy!" Ethan ripped off his tie and threw his hands up in sheer frustration.
"Last fall, Megan ran into me at a consulting gala here in Boston and asked if you'd be open to taking on a short-term remote project to get your feet wet. I turned it down for you. So what? If I had told you back then, you would have turned this house upside down, failed to juggle both, and ended up miserable and defeated anyway!"
The living room went dead silent.
I froze where I stood, the blood in my veins turning to ice.
"What did you just say?" I stared at him, my voice barely above a whisper. "Megan… reached out to you last year?"