Chapter 2

The next morning, the sun was shining brightly.

Richard was up early, dressed in his suit, standing by the bed. His gaze was cold, almost impatient, as if he couldn't wait to be done with this.

"The lawyer will be here this afternoon. Go over the agreement. I'll come pick you up at nine tomorrow morning to get the paperwork done," he said.

I sat up. "Why the rush?"

"This has dragged on long enough. It's not good for anyone," Richard said, ad ing his cuffs. "Claire can't wait any longer."

He finally said her name out loud.

I got out of bed and grabbed my glasses from the nightstand. "She's waited over twenty years. One more day won't make a difference."

Richard paused, his hand frozen. "Stella, don't talk like that. She never wronged you."

I stared at him. "And what about me?"

He frowned. "I've already given you everything."

"So I'm supposed to be grateful?" I shot back.

"I don't want to argue," he said, fastening his watch. "Ryan's coming home tonight. Don't make a fuss in front of him."

I let out a laugh. "Does Ryan Quinn know?"

Richard's face darkened. "He should've found out ages ago. Don't use him as leverage against me."

The doorbell rang.

Aunt Julie, the housekeeper, went to open the door. Claire was standing there, holding an insulated food container, wrapped in a beige coat, her hair elegantly styled.

She paused when she saw me, then gave me a gentle smile.

"Stella, I didn't know you were home," she said.

I stood at the top of the stairs. "This is my house. Is it so strange that I'm here?"

Claire's smile didn't falter. "I made some soup for Richard. His stomach's not the best, and since he was out late for work last night, I was worried he'd feel sick."

Richard walked over and took the container. "You didn't have to come in person."

"Just happened to be nearby," Claire said softly. "And I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Stella. It was so late yesterday, I didn't want to bother you."

Aunt Julie was wiping the table nearby, her movements slowing down.

I glanced at the container. "Did you know he was coming home yesterday?"

Claire glanced at Richard. "Richard said he was coming home to spend one last birthday with you."

'Last birthday.'

Her words were sharper than any blade.

Richard cut in, "Claire, you should go."

"Did I say something wrong?" Claire asked, pulling her hand back into her coat pocket. "Stella, I didn't mean anything by it. I've always respected you for all you've been through with Richard."

I walked up to her. "Respectful enough to leave your perfume on his collar?"

Claire's face went pale. "I didn't mean to, it was an accident in the car."

Richard stepped in front of her. "Enough. Stella, don't embarrass yourself."

"So I'm the one embarrassing myself?" I shot back.

"You are," he said. "Claire came here with good intentions, bringing soup. Why do you have to be so sharp with every word?"

Aunt Julie bumped the plate against the table with a loud clatter.

Claire immediately went over to help her. "Aunt Julie, be careful."

Aunt Julie glanced at me, then lowered her head. "Mrs. Quinn, I'll go to the kitchen."

'Mrs. Quinn.'

Nobody really calls me that around here anymore.

Claire poured the soup into a bowl and slid it over to Richard. "Drink it while it's hot."

Richard took a sip, and his frown eased.

During the years when his stomach bothered him, I would get up in the middle of the night to make him oatmeal and try more than a dozen easy-on-the-stomach soup recipes.

He always said they were too bland. Yet when Claire used the same recipes, he said they were just right.

When the lawyer arrived that afternoon, Claire was still there.

She was sitting on the living room sofa, acting like she owned the place, sorting out Richard's medicine box and telling Aunt Julie to open the curtains.

The lawyer, Mr. Turner, nodded politely when he saw me.

"Ms. Shaw, here's the divorce agreement. Mr. Quinn has already signed it. Please take a look," he said.

Claire spoke softly, "Mr. Turner, Stella takes her time with paperwork. Please don't rush her."

I opened the agreement.

The house, the car, and the cash in the account would all go to me. Richard even wrote that he wouldn't hold me responsible for any household money I had spent over the years.

On paper, it all looked generous.

But every line felt like an insult.

I looked up. "What about the shares in Quinn Enterprises?"

Richard glanced over. "That's the company, not family assets."

"Part of the startup funds came from my father's inheritance," I said.

"I'll give it back to you," he said, his tone hardening. "Ten times what it was back then."

Claire quickly tried to smooth things over. "Richard, don't get upset. Stella's having a hard time letting go."

I looked at her. "Why are you so eager?"

Claire clutched her spoon. "I'm not."

Richard slid the agreement toward me. "Sign it. Don't make this uncomfortable for everyone."

I picked up the pen.

Mr. Turner reminded me, "Ms. Shaw, you can still reconsider."

Richard shot him a look.

Mr. Turner fell silent.

I wrote out the name Stella Shaw on the signature line.

As the pen moved across the paper, Claire couldn't hold back any longer and took a sip of water.