Chapter 4

I looked at her. And I remembered the first time we met, five years ago. Margaret had said almost the same words to me then.

Back in those days, Andrew's company was barely hanging on. Cash was so tight they could hardly cover the rent on that cramped little office.

I used the trust my father left me to cover that first gap.

I brought in investors through my mentor's connections. I helped him survive those brutal first six months.

I stayed up nights with the legal team, going over every line of every contract, fighting off that lawsuit that nearly buried the company for good.

The Shaw family gladly took every resource I handed them. And they still looked down on me like I was the one grasping for something I did not deserve.

Looking back at it now, the whole thing was almost laughable.

I opened the drawer and pulled out a folder. I handed it to her. "Mrs. Shaw. Take a look."

She flipped through a few pages. Her face changed fast.

Inside were the transfer records from five years ago. The mortgage documents for the property. The personal guarantee, where I put my own name on the line for the company's debt.

And the last page was the addendum from the first major round of capital.

It wrote that if Andrew broke the terms of our agreement, or if he committed a serious breach of conduct during the marriage, I had the legal right to reclaim the shares I held in trust for him.

Margaret's hands were shaking. "How do you have all of this?"

I met her eyes without blinking. "Because the Shaw family did not build me. I am the one who stood beside your son and kept him afloat.

"And for the record, the down payment on that penthouse your son lives in? That was my money too."

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I picked up my bag and walked past her.

Her voice cracked a little behind me. "Evelyn. What exactly are you after?"

I didn't look back. "A divorce. And every single thing that belongs to me."

*****

The day I moved out of the Shaw residence, the sky opened up, and the rain came down in sheets.

Andrew was gone. Chloe was there. She was sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing my slippers, looking over a project proposal.

She heard the noise and glanced up. For a second, she looked caught off guard. Then she smiled warmly. "Evelyn. Please do not misunderstand.

"I came by to talk with Andrew about a collaboration. The rain got so heavy I could not leave."

I looked at the pale gray slippers on her feet and nearly laughed out loud.

I bought those in Coralisle last year. Andrew always said the colors were ugly and refused to wear them. Now here was Chloe, walking around in them like they had been hers all along.

I gave a small nod and let the movers keep carrying the boxes out.

Chloe stood up and walked closer. Her voice was soft and careful. "Are you really going through with the divorce?

"Men get buried in work sometimes. It is normal for them to overlook things at home. Putting this kind of pressure on Andrew only makes everything harder for everyone."

I zipped my suitcase shut and looked at her. "And you are saying this to me as what, exactly? His business partner? His friend? Or something I should be worried about?"

Her smile flickered. "I did not mean it like that. It is only that you two have been together for so long. That has to count for something."

"It counts," I said. I held her gaze and spoke slowly. "I am his wife. And I still have to put up with an old girlfriend walking around my house five years later. Yeah. That counts for a whole lot."

Her expression cracked. The air in the room went heavy. Then she let out a soft little laugh. "Evelyn, you are making this into something it is not.

"I came back for work. I am not trying to break up a marriage. If things are not working between you and Andrew, that is between the two of you. Do not drag me into it."

That was a smooth move. She said it as if she had done absolutely nothing. It sounded as if I were the one who failed, and the wreckage was my own fault.

I nodded slowly. "You are right. When a marriage falls apart, you cannot blame the other woman.

"And you definitely cannot blame the one who nearly died because of a stupid mango cheesecake."

Chloe's face went still.

I pulled my suitcase toward the door. As I passed her, I stopped. "And take those slippers with you when you go.

Anything you have touched is ruined for me."

*****

I moved into my own small apartment. It was not big, but it was quiet.

No more phone calls from Margaret asking about my cycle like she was tracking a stock ticker.

No more headlights sweeping across the bedroom ceiling at three in the morning when Andrew rolled home. No more walking on eggshells.

When Ryan brought the divorce papers over, I was sitting on the floor sorting my medication.

He leaned against the doorframe and watched me for a second. "You always used to line up your pills by color after a fight. Old habits?"

I did not glance up. "This is not a fight. This is a divorce."

He let out a short laugh, walked over, and pulled an expired EpiPen out of my kit with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times. "Here. Fresh one. Put it in your bag this time. Do not forget."

I looked up and met his eyes. "Thanks."