Chapter 4

My hand was still shaking when the printer released the final page.

Nora stood on the other side of the table without rushing me. Three months earlier, I had asked my attorney to draft the petition, but I had never managed to sign the last page. I had told myself it was only a precaution.

Now Adrian’s message remained on my screen.

He wouldn’t return the brooch. He wouldn’t change the statement. And he didn’t believe I could leave him.

I gripped the pen and signed my name.

Lena Hart.

No Vale.

My attorney confirmed that I wanted to file, recorded the studio apartment as my address, and reminded me that California required a six-month waiting period after Adrian was served.

At two that afternoon, she filed the petition.

Adrian’s publicist called immediately.

“Lena, do you understand how much damage a divorce announcement could do right now? The movie just opened, and Sloane is pregnant. At least wait until the press tour is over.”

“Did Adrian ask you to call me?”

She hesitated. “He thinks you need time to calm down.”

“Tell him the papers have already been filed.”

I ended the call and returned to the penthouse for my things.

My gowns still hung in the closet by color. A photograph of Adrian and me from the previous year sat beside the bed, as if nothing had happened at the premiere.

I packed only two suitcases: clothes, identification, and several letters from my mother. After eight years, my wedding ring left a pale band around my finger when I removed it.

I placed the ring and my keys on the table by the door.

At least half of everything in that home belonged to me, but I took only what I needed for the night.

The rest could be handled later. I wasn’t going to waste another hour packing while hoping Adrian might come home and change his mind.

At eight that evening, I posted a statement from my own account.

Adrian Vale and I formally separated today. I did not consent to the arrangement at last night’s premiere. From this point forward, no public statement concerning my health speaks for me unless it comes directly from me.

I had rewritten it seven times. In the end, I kept only the facts.

Within ten minutes, it had been shared more than ten thousand times. Some people accused me of creating a scandal during the movie’s opening weekend. Others asked whether Sloane had already moved into my home.

Adrian didn’t contact me.

At nine, his team released a response.

It said I had been under “significant personal strain” and had suffered a recurrence of my previous anxiety issues. Adrian was protecting my privacy and hoped the public would give me time to recover. It never mentioned the divorce or acknowledged that he had taken my brooch.

He had turned my refusal into another breakdown.

Nora closed the page halfway through.

“We can post the footage of you working tonight. Let everyone see exactly how clearheaded you are.”

“If we post it now, it’ll be my word against his.”

I called the museum director overseeing my solo exhibition. The phone rang until it went to voicemail.

The exhibition had taken two years to prepare. It would have been the first time since my mother’s death that my work appeared solely under the name Lena Hart.

At eleven forty, the director still hadn’t called back.

At 12:07 a.m., the cancellation notice arrived in my inbox. The museum had suspended my exhibition because it couldn’t accept the risk while I was at the center of a public controversy.

At 12:08 a.m., Adrian sent his first direct message of the night.

Come home. I can fix the mess you made.

I stared at the screen and pressed Record.