Chapter 1
Five days into our marriage, my husband flew overseas to comfort his injured ex.
All he left on the table was a platinum card and a scribbled note: Return date unknown.
Four years later, we crossed paths in a grand hotel lobby. He rushed over and clamped a hand around my wrist, his voice shaking.
I did not pull away. I simply glanced down at my custom watch, one of only eight in the world, and gave a subtle nod.
Six men in dark tailored suits silently closed in from the shadows. As his grip went slack, I turned on my heel and slipped into my waiting car.
Some men just have to be taught manners the hard way.
*****
The lights in The Lumiere Hotel lobby were blinding.
Just as Charles Graham's fingers were about to brush my arm, I stepped to the right.
His hand caught nothing but air, and he froze.
Behind him, his assistant clutched a briefcase and cautiously stepped back.
"Evelyn." Charles's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, each word slow and deliberate.
"Let's talk," he pleaded.
I looked down and smoothed the cuffs of my trench coat.
My watch caught the light, gleaming coldly. It was a custom Vacheron Constantin. Only eight existed in the world.
Four years ago, I wouldn't have even dared to walk past the jewelry counters at the mall.
"Mr. Graham," I greeted him.
I gave him a perfectly measured smile, as polite as a hotel manager. "You're blocking the walkway."
His face fell.
The face that used to make my heart skip a beat was now tight with panic.
His lips parted, but whatever words were lodged in his throat refused to come out.
I walked past him toward the main doors.
A black Bentley was idling at the entrance. The driver had already opened the rear door and stood waiting with a slight bow.
Two identical cars idled in front and behind it, their windows heavily tinted.
Charles suddenly lunged from behind, grabbing my wrist.
He squeezed so hard my bones ached.
"Evelyn, I know I put you through hell these past four years." His voice shook, sounding like he was on the verge of breaking. "But can you just give me five minutes? Just five."
I looked down at the hand clamped around my wrist.
Four years ago, just five days after our wedding, that same hand had gripped a suitcase handle and opened our bedroom door.
The sound of the wheels rolling across the floorboards echoed in my mind, dragging step by step to the front door.
I had stayed in bed, listening in total silence.
"Let go," I ordered.
He didn't budge.
I slipped my free hand into my coat pocket and pressed a small, flat remote.
Six men in black suits stood up from the lounge areas. Moving in perfect silence, they quickly closed in, forming a semi circle a few feet away from me.
Charles's assistant stumbled backward, nearly dropping his briefcase.
The lead bodyguard bowed his head slightly. "Ms. Lane."
I looked at Charles.
He was still clutching my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, making him look like a cornered animal.
"Mr. Graham," I said softly.
I slowly pulled my hand back, peeling his fingers off mine one by one. They left angry red marks on my skin.
"Do I need to teach you about boundaries?" I asked.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
I turned and walked toward the open car door.
Just as my heel hit the doorway, he shouted after me, his voice raw and desperate. "Evelyn! I didn't have a choice back then!
"She fell off the stage and broke her leg. Her dad threatened to pull the Graham Group's funding. I had no way out!"
I didn't look back.
The driver shut the door.
The soundproof glass instantly cut off his voice. The only sound left was the soft hum of the AC.
I leaned back into the leather seat and looked out the window.
Charles was still standing frozen at the hotel entrance. His mouth was moving.
Through the glass, I couldn't hear a thing.
I rolled down the window.
Just a sliver.
He instantly threw himself forward, gripping the window frame. His forehead practically pressed against the glass.
"Eve," he choked out my nickname, crying. "I was wrong. I really know I was wrong."
I looked at him.
I watched him for about ten seconds.
Then, I pulled my phone from my purse, flipped the screen toward him, and held it up.
He stared at the screen, his eyes locking onto it.
Three seconds later, it was like someone had pulled every bone from his body. He stumbled back, every ounce of color draining from his face.
I rolled the window up.
"Drive," I instructed.
The cars pulled away.
In the rearview mirror, Charles was still standing at the hotel entrance, completely motionless.
His assistant ran over to help him, but Charles shoved him away, completely numb.
The wind blew his tie askew.
He didn't even try to fix it.
He looked like a broken statue discarded on the curb.
Five days after our wedding, Charles left at five in the morning.
I groggily heard the sound of a zipper. Opening my eyes, I saw him packing clothes into a suitcase in the dark.
He moved quietly, like he was afraid of waking me.
I didn't make a sound.
I waited for the bedroom door to close. I waited for the sound of the suitcase wheels to roll down the hallway.
I waited for the front door to open and shut, and for the deadbolt to click into place.
The apartment fell dead silent.
A bank card sat on my nightstand, resting on top of a sticky note.
The handwriting was a hurried scrawl.
[Eve, emergency business trip to France. Return date up in the air. There's two hundred grand on this card. Spend it on whatever you need.]
It was signed with a single "C".
I sat there holding that note for a long time.
The sky slowly began to brighten. Light squeezed through the gap in the curtains, slicing a harsh, bright line across the duvet.
My phone started ringing.
It was Charles's younger sister, Emily.
The background noise on her end was chaotic. Airport announcements were blaring.
"Eve," she said rapidly, keeping her voice hushed. "My brother had an absolute emergency and had to fly to another country.
"Yeah, work stuff. A major partner insisted on an in person meeting."
"When is he coming back?"
"Well, that's up in the air," she dodged. "He might have to stay a while."
"Did he go alone?"
The line suddenly went quiet.
It stayed quiet for a good five seconds.
Then, Emily muttered a soft, "Yeah."
Before the sound of her confirmation even faded, another woman's voice drifted clearly through the receiver.
It was delicate and slightly nasally. "Charles, my knee is starting to ache again."
Emily hung up.
The line went dead, the dial tone blaring in my ear.
I put my phone back on the nightstand and got up, heading to the bathroom.
My eyes were puffy in the mirror, but I wasn't crying.
I couldn't cry.
There was a heavy, dull feeling in my chest. It wasn't pain. It was an emptiness, like someone had hollowed me out and left me numb.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and got dressed.
I opened Charles's side of the closet. A small section was empty. His favorite dress shirts and coats were gone, along with one of his suitcases.
On the bathroom counter, his electric toothbrush was still sitting in its dock, the blue light blinking.