Chapter 2

Richard Sterling’s seventieth birthday party took over the entire private penthouse at The St. Regis New York.

I wore the champagne gown Ethan had demanded. But the spot next to him—the place that belonged to his wife—was already occupied by Vanessa.

She walked in wearing the exact white dress I had admired but never bought. Every eye in the room turned to her.

"Ethan, am I late?" Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

Ethan leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Not at all. The most important people always arrive last."

Elaine frowned. Richard said nothing. The older Sterling relatives exchanged loaded glances—some mocking, some just eager for a show.

I was seated at the very end of the long table, relegated to the distant cousins.

A few drinks in, Vanessa walked over, a champagne flute in hand. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried perfectly in the quiet room.

"Mrs. Sterling? Could you get me some hot water? I'm feeling a bit faint."

The entire table went dead silent.

Ethan kept cutting his steak, not even bothering to look up.

I set my glass down. "There's a waiter right behind you."

Vanessa’s smile faltered. "I know, but I was hoping you'd do it."

I looked at her. "Then ask your boyfriend."

A few muffled laughs rippled from the nearby seats.

Vanessa’s eyes instantly welled with tears. "Ethan..."

Ethan finally looked up, his expression darkening. "Claire. It's a glass of water. Drop the attitude."

I met his freezing gaze, stood up, poured a glass of water, and slid it across the table to her.

Vanessa didn't take it. A single tear slipped down her cheek. "I was just trying to be friendly..."

Ethan’s face turned thunderous. "Apologize to her."

The silence in the banquet hall was deafening. Elaine looked away. Richard let out a low sigh. Everyone was staring at me. Pity. Contempt. Amusement.

A year ago, in this exact room, Ethan had held my hand and introduced me. "This is my wife, Claire." There had even been a flicker of pride in his eyes back then.

I looked at Vanessa and spoke evenly.

"My apologies. I shouldn't have assumed you knew how to flag down a waiter."

The party ended in suffocating tension.

We drove back to the Greenwich estate in separate cars. Late that night, Ethan walked into the master bedroom reeking of alcohol and slammed the divorce papers onto the table.

He lit a cigarette. "Vanessa is moving in. I'm having the lawyers draft the settlement. Sign it."

I stared at the thick stack of paper, remembering the night he proposed. Outside that old Upper West Side apartment, he had arranged roses in the shape of a heart. His hand had been shaking when he held out the ring.

"Marry me, Claire. I’ll make you happy for the rest of your life."

There had been sincerity in his eyes then, too. Even if it was only for a moment.

"I want primary physical custody of Leo," I said.

Ethan laughed. It was a cruel, hollow sound. "You can't afford him."

I stood up. I was much shorter than him, but I kept my spine perfectly straight. "Then we'll let a judge decide physical custody."

His smile vanished. He stared at me, then let out a sharp scoff.

"If you want to embarrass yourself in court, go ahead. But you can't beat me. You're a doctor on a salary. How exactly do you plan to outspend the Sterling legal team?"

He walked out. The door slammed.

It was raining outside. The roses in the Greenwich courtyard were being battered by the storm. Ethan had planted them himself before we got married. "Roses suit you," he had said. "They always have."

Now, they were dying.

I walked back to Leo’s bed and kissed his forehead. "Mommy won't lose, Leo."

From the direction of the study, I heard the violent crash of something shattering.