Chapter 2
Richard couldn't be bothered to deny it.
"Divorce settlement," I said. "I'll have my lawyer draw them up tomorrow. You need to sign."
Richard stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled.
I knew that smile all too well.
It was the kind of smile that said, "You're being silly again," the one he always gave me with that fond look.
Back then, I found it comforting.
Now, it makes me sick.
"Claire, where would you go if you left me? You don't own any shares in the company, your studio was funded by me, and everything you have in this city is because of me," he said.
He paused.
Then, he pressed, "Do you dare tell your dad about this?"
I didn't say anything.
He knew exactly how to get to me.
Three years ago, I married him without telling my dad. If he ever found out, it wouldn't be anger.
"So, be a good girl and go home," Richard said.
He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, as if nothing had happened at all.
"I have a business dinner tonight. You go ahead and head home. Don't wait up for me," he said.
The door closed again.
I stood alone in the empty CEO's office, still clutching the bag with the tie inside.
A deep blue tie with subtle patterns.
Richard's favorite color.
I tossed the bag into the trash.
When I got back to the apartment, there was an unexpected guest at home.
Richard's mother, Sofia Lane, was sitting on the living room sofa in a dark blue dress, sipping coffee.
In the three years I'd been married into the Lane family, she'd never bothered to acknowledge me.
To her, I was some random actress from nowhere who had managed to hook her son.
She had no idea I was Victor Summers' daughter.
No one knew.
Sofia set down her cup and looked me up and down. "You're back? You ran off to the office without packing your things? Couldn't wait to see Richard, huh?"
I didn't respond.
"Sit," she said.
It wasn't a request. It was an order.
I sat down.
"I'm here to tell you something," Sofia said, pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the table. "Richard's thirty-third birthday party is on the eighteenth of next month. You don't need to attend."
"Why?" I asked.
"I'm worried you'll embarrass us," she said offhandedly. "At the last anniversary party, you couldn't tell Bordeaux from Burgundy. If people heard about it, they'd think the Lane family brought home some random nobody."
That party was the first time I ever attended as nothing more than "Richard's friend."
I was so nervous, I blurted out the wrong wine region.
She never let me forget it for half a year.
"Also," Sofia said, taking a sip of her coffee, "I've already had your car in the underground garage swapped for a basic sedan. That flashy car was too much. It didn't suit you."
That car was a gift from Richard for our second wedding anniversary.
Before I could say anything, she went on. "Olivia is coming over for dinner next week. She is Richard's key business partner, so you'd better behave yourself. Don't give us that 'I'm the wife' attitude. It's embarrassing."
I clenched my hands on my knees, my fingers curling tighter and tighter.
I looked up at her, "Sofia, would you be glad if I divorced Richard?"
She froze for a second, then smiled, "Divorce? Do you really think you have the right to bring up that word?
"Without the Lane family, you're nothing at all. You should really think this through." She stood up and grabbed her handbag.
As the door closed, I pulled out my phone.
I scrolled all the way to the bottom of my contacts: Dad.
My finger hovered over the screen for a long time.
In the end, I couldn't bring myself to call.
It wasn't fear holding me back.
I couldn't let Dad find out that his daughter's marriage had fallen apart like this.
The next day, I went to my studio.
It was supposed to be mine, but technically, the studio belonged to Richard. Lane Enterprises covered everything: staff salaries, rent, and utilities.
I worked on my own designs here.
In three years, I'd launched a few small collections. They got a bit of buzz, but nothing ever really took off.
Because Richard never let me grow the brand.
He always said, "Just treat it as a hobby. Don't work yourself too hard."
Back then, I thought he was saying it because he cared about me.
But now, I realized it was all about control.
Of course, a wife who couldn't stand on her own financially would never have the guts to leave.
As soon as my assistant, Lynn, walked in, I could tell something was wrong.
"Claire, something is wrong," she said.
"What's up?" I asked.
"The supplier called. They said this month's fabric order has been canceled," Lynn said.
"Canceled? Who canceled it?" I asked.
"It was Lane Enterprises. They said they're making budget adjustments and have suspended the funding," Lynn replied.
My hand stopped in place, the pencil still clenched in my fingers.
Lynn bit her lip. "And the application we sent in for fashion week yesterday got rejected. They said our brand isn't good enough."