Chapter 4

My hands started shaking as I held the paper.

It wasn't sadness.

It was an indescribable feeling. It felt like I had been stumbling around in a pitch-black room for years, and suddenly, someone turned on a light in the distance.

Richard Ford. He was my dad's old colleague.

He transferred out of town years ago, and we had lost touch.

I dug out an old address book and finally found a number. Before I could dial, my phone rang.

It was my mom.

"Evelyn, are you coming home for dinner tonight?" she asked.

"Mom, do you know how to reach Richard Ford?" I replied.

Silence fell over the line for a few seconds. "Why are you asking about him all of a sudden?" she asked.

"I found some things Dad left behind at home."

She went silent again. Longer this time.

"Your dad mentioned it briefly before he passed," she finally said, her tone complicated. "He said he left some things for you, but you had to reach a certain age to get them.

"I have Richard's number, but I think he changed it. It didn't go through the last time I called."

"What city is he in?"

"Last I heard, he was in Riverdale. I don't know exactly where he lives."

I noted the information and hung up.

Riverdale. Right here in this city.

I put the notebook and the letter away, locking them in the bottom drawer of my desk.

I placed them right next to my marriage certificate.

*****

On the ninth day, Sophia reached out again and sent something over.

She switched to a new number.

This time, it wasn't a photo. It was a fifteen-second video.

The frame showed a French restaurant illuminated by flickering candlelight.

Charles sat across the table. He was saying something with a soft expression on his face.

The person filming was laughing. It was a delicate, sweet laugh that trailed off playfully.

"Charles, where are you taking me once my leg heals?" Sophia asked.

"Anywhere you want to go," Charles replied.

The video cut off.

I locked my phone screen and set it on the table.

I did not save the clip, and I did not delete it. I just left it there.

Then the doorbell rang.

Assuming it was a package, I went to the door and pulled it open.

Two people stood on the porch. I recognized the first man immediately. It was Alfred, the butler for the Graham family.

Beside him stood a man in a sharp suit, a leather briefcase tucked under his arm.

"Ma'am," Alfred said, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Mrs. Graham asked me to deliver this for your review."

The man in the suit popped his briefcase open, pulled out a thick stack of documents, and handed them to me.

"Ms. Lane, this is a postnuptial agreement," the lawyer said briskly. "Given your ongoing marriage to Mr. Graham, both parties need to clearly define the ownership of assets."

I took the packet and flipped through the pages.

The legal jargon boiled down to a single, brutal point. I was to forfeit all rights to marital property, including real estate, stock shares, and savings under Charles's name.

If we divorced, I would walk away with absolutely nothing.

"Mrs. Graham said that if you sign this, everyone can just move on," Alfred mumbled, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Your living expenses will be fully covered."

I flipped to the last page.

The signature line was blank, but the Graham family's corporate legal seal was already stamped heavily beside it.

I looked up at the butler. "What else did she say?"

"Mrs. Graham said..." Alfred hesitated, shifting his weight. "She said the sooner you sign, the sooner you will have peace of mind.

"Dragging this out isn't good for anyone."

I closed the file and tossed it onto the entryway console table. "Tell her I'll think about it," I said.

"Ma'am, Mrs. Graham said it would be best if we handled this today."

"I said I will think about it."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He offered a tight nod and walked away with the lawyer.

After I shut the door, I stood in the entryway and stared at the stack of papers.

Upstairs, the neighbor's kids were running around, their footsteps thudding heavily against the floorboards.

I grabbed the documents, walked into the kitchen, and turned on the gas burner.

A ring of blue fire flared to life. I held the papers directly to the flame.

The edges curled instantly, turning into black ash that drifted down onto the stovetop piece by piece.

The smoke alarm started blaring.

I turned off the burner, shoved the kitchen window open, and stood in the cool breeze.

I watched the very last flake of ash settle onto the floor tiles.

Then I picked up my phone and sent a text to my lawyer, Lucas.

[Lucas, the Grahams just tried to force me to sign a postnup giving up all marital assets. I didn't sign it, and I burned the original. Let me know what our next steps are.]

Once the message went through, I opened my contacts, found Charles's number, and sent him one last text.

[Charles, your mother just sent a lawyer to my house to make me sign away everything. Did you know about this?]

This time, he replied. It took less than two minutes.

[Eve, don't panic. My mother was totally out of line, and I am going to talk to her. Just wait for me. I'll handle it.]

I stared at the glowing text bubble.

It was always "wait for me."

Always.

*****

Charles finally called. He hadn't reached out in eleven days.

It was two in the morning.

I was still awake, sitting in front of my laptop and tweaking my resume.

The screen cast a harsh glow across the dark room. My phone buzzed on the desk, his name flashing across the display.

I answered it.

"Eve," he breathed. His voice sounded heavy and cautious. "I went off on my mom about the postnup.

"She isn't going to pressure you anymore."

"And then?" I asked.

"And then..." He paused. "Eve, can you just give me a little more time?"

"How much time?"

"I don't know. Sophia's leg injury is a lot worse than we thought. The doctors are saying she needs extensive rehab after her ligament reconstruction surgery.

"She is a total wreck emotionally right now. I can't just leave her."

"Why can't you?"

Dead silence hung on the line for several seconds.

"She saw the news about our wedding during her event," Charles finally said. "She lost focus and fell off the stage.

"If it weren't for me, she wouldn't be in this hospital bed right now."

"So this is my fault?" I asked flatly.

"No, Eve, that is not what I mean," he said, his tone growing frantic. "But her dad came looking for me.

"He threatened my father with pulling out of the three joint ventures the Sinclair Group has in Riverdale.

"That is nearly six hundred million dollars on the line. My dad would ruin me."

"So your solution is to abandon your wife of five days and stay in Froria to play nurse for another woman."

"Eve..."

"Charles, I have one last question for you."

"Tell me."

"Where do I fit into all this?"

The line went completely quiet. I could hear his faint, ragged breathing through the receiver.

All I could hear was his breathing, soft and uneven, coming through the phone.

Finally, he spoke two words. "I'm sorry."

I waited a few seconds to make sure he was actually done talking.

"I understand," I said.

I hung up and flipped the phone face down on the desk.

The screen went black. The only sound left in the room was the low hum of my laptop's cooling fan.

I leaned back in my office chair and stared up at the ceiling.

The harsh white glare from the overhead bulb stung my eyes.

I didn't cry.

I just felt like a heavy iron door inside my chest had been locked from the outside. Completely and irreversibly shut.

Sitting back up, I turned my attention to the monitor.

My resume was still open.

I highlighted the line that read Executive Assistant (Intern) to the Chairman of Graham Group and hit delete.

Then I opened a fresh document.

I stared at the blinking cursor for a long time.

I started typing.

The first line read: [Business Plan.]