Chapter 1

Jonathan Sterling's pampered little mistress, Olivia Lane, was throwing another fit.

He handed me the divorce papers and said, "Sign it. It's just for show. The poor girl needs some peace of mind."

I stayed silent for a moment, then picked up the pen and signed my name in one clean stroke.

On my way out, I heard one of his friends tease him, "Evelyn's awfully obedient, Jonathan. Don't tell me she does whatever you ask without so much as a peep?"

Jonathan lit a cigarette and took a slow, satisfied drag. He smiled and said, "Wanna find out?"

The others whooped and egged him on. They wanted to see me twenty days from now at the courthouse, sobbing my heart out and still nodding along like a good little wife as I agreed to let him go.

The moment the ink dried on my divorce decree, I picked up my phone and answered the message waiting in my inbox. It read: [Will you marry me?]

I typed back: [I will.]

*****

When I pushed through the door, Jonathan was sitting at the center of the bar, surrounded by his usual circle of friends.

The moment he spotted me, a gentle smile spread across his face. He waved me over and said, "Evelyn, come here for a second."

I walked over, and he slipped his arm around my shoulders with practiced affection.

His voice stayed as warm as always when he said, "I need you to do something for me."

He slid a document across the polished wood toward me.

It was a divorce agreement.

My fingers curled on instinct, and I gripped the hem of my dress tight enough to wrinkle the fabric.

Jonathan noticed the way my body had gone rigid. He rubbed my back in slow, soothing circles, and his voice dropped into something coaxing. He said, "Don't get all worked up. It's just a formality."

He leaned in close to my ear and murmured, "Olivia's been making a real scene lately. She won't settle down until she feels like she has some kind of claim. Just sign it, humor her, and let she feel important for a little while."

He lifted his whiskey and took a casual sip, as relaxed as if we were chatting about the weather.

He added, "Once she calms down, this whole mess blows over. You know how it is, Evelyn. You're my real wife. The other women are nothing more than a little fun on the side, and none of them could ever hold a candle to you."

When I didn't move right away, something anxious flickered behind his eyes, though his tone stayed soft. He said, "Come on, Evelyn. You've always been the reasonable one. Just sign, okay?"

Olivia really did know what she was doing.

Word was, when Jonathan first tried to win Olivia over by throwing money at her, she didn't even blink. She mocked him instead, telling him he had "nothing but a checkbook."

That seemingly aloof attitude was exactly what made Jonathan think she was different. She wasn't like the other women who orbited him for his wallet.

Later, when she found out he was married, she immediately played the role of a woman with unshakable principles.

Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked up at him and said, "Mr. Sterling, I'll admit I have feelings for you. But I was raised to believe I could never come between a husband and wife.

"I won't be the other woman, the kind everyone spits on. So let's end it here. We shouldn't see each other again."

But even as she delivered those final words, she let the perfect amount of vulnerability, longing, and reluctance bleed through.

She never actually walked away from the comfortable life Jonathan provided.

Instead, she stayed close but out of reach, and it drove him wild. He was already obsessed with her.

She knew exactly how men like him worked. What they could not have would always burn hottest in their minds, and a step back was often the surest way forward.

Jonathan was eating it up.

I studied his handsome face, and I searched those eyes I had once drowned in. All I found now was a warmth he had carefully manufactured for my benefit.

He was terrified I would change my mind, and he was calculating every angle to keep things from slipping out of his control.

The last trace of warmth drained out of the hollow place in my chest, and that ground had been barren for a long time.

I could not even feel the pain anymore, and only a dull numbness remained in its place.

My own voice sounded calm and flat to my ears, and I said, "Fine."

The moment I picked up the pen, Jonathan seemed to exhale, and he added, "Baby, once this whole mess blows over, we'll get remarried.

"I'll throw you an even bigger wedding this time, and I'll invite every big name in the city. And that honeymoon last year, you said it felt too rushed, right?

"This time you pick the place, and you can stay as long as you want. I'll be with you the whole way. And those tropical islands you've always wanted to visit, we'll finally make it happen, just the two of us."

He was painting a future that would never arrive, and his voice rang so sincere that he nearly convinced himself.

I gave him no response. I lowered my head instead and signed my name across the agreement in neat, steady strokes that never once trembled.

The instant I set the pen down, his friend Jack Wells burst out laughing beside him.

Jack said, "Jonathan, Evelyn's really going easy on you here, isn't she? She just rolls with everything? I bet you could ask her to do anything and she wouldn't say a word."

Jonathan settled back into his chair with lazy satisfaction and lit a cigarette. The smoke curled up around his face and softened the smug edge of his expression.

He glanced at Jack, his voice carrying that careless brand of protection that sounded more like a man flaunting his absolute grip on everything around him.

Jonathan said, "Watch your mouth. Where's your respect? Evelyn knows how to carry herself. You wouldn't understand."

Jack threw his hands up in mock surrender, but that slick grin stayed plastered on his face. Jack said, "Come on, it was a joke. Evelyn's way too classy to hold something like that against me, right?"

He turned toward me, still wearing the same grin, and said, "Right, Evelyn? We've known each other forever. You know what I'm like."

Jonathan took a slow drag, and then he flicked the cigarette loosely in Jack's direction, his tone somewhere between amused and bored. Jonathan said, "Alright, enough. Apologize to Evelyn."

Jack swung toward me right away, drawing out his words in that oily, street-slick cadence.

Jack said, "Yes, sir! Evelyn, I'm real sorry. My mouth runs off on me sometimes. You're better than that, so don't waste your breath on a guy like me."

I watched them play off each other as if they'd rehearsed the whole thing.

Jonathan sat behind the curl of cigarette smoke with that familiar look of absolute control on his face, and my heart didn't so much as flutter.

I ignored Jack's hollow apology, and I didn't even glance at Jonathan.

I slid the signed agreement across the polished bar top toward Jonathan, picked up my clutch, and said quietly, "I'm heading home."