Chapter 2

Vivienne stepped quickly to Ethan's side and lowered her voice to remind him:

"Mr. Holt, even though the agreement stipulates she gives up custody... in all my years of practice, I've never once seen a mother give up her child this easily."

"Given that Ms. Calloway has had multiple affairs, she probably planned this all along — after all, a child would be inconvenient... There's no point trying to talk her out of it."

She glanced up at me as she finished speaking, a flicker of something heavy passing through her eyes.

I let out a short laugh.

She seemed to have forgotten...

Four years ago, this absurd prenuptial agreement — with its precisely predetermined number of "permitted affairs" — had been drafted by her.

Ethan's expression dropped another degree.

"You'd better mean what you say. Don't come crawling back to me later."

He left those words behind and turned to walk out.

I watched his retreating figure and felt the corner of my mouth twitch.

I won't, Ethan.

Back then, just to convince myself to accept you, I went to every tarot reader and psychic in the city.

Every answer they gave me warned against us.

Later, I flew five thousand miles to the old chapel in Florence, kneeling there for an entire day and night before I finally found the words I wanted to believe:

Some loves are written by fate—never question where they come from.

Who could have known that a heaven-ordained match would end up a cursed one.

This time, my knees will not bend again.

Vivienne looked at me, the faintest smile curling the corner of her lips. "Ms. Calloway, every second is precious — we won't keep you any longer."

The moment the door shut, the room fell quiet again.

I glanced down at the man still passed out on the bed.

My stomach turned with revulsion.

I had woken before him. I could have left without waiting for them to arrive.

But I was tired of this cat-and-mouse game.

So I'd waited.

I put on my coat and walked out without looking back.

The following evening I returned to collect my things.

When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I found everything I'd ever used or worn was gone.

The housekeeper shifted awkwardly, unable to meet my eyes:

"Ma'am, your things were all moved to the storage room... Miss Walsh said the master bedroom... is about to have a new mistress, and it needed to be cleared out right away."

I smiled slightly.

Four years of marriage, and I wasn't even entitled to a proper goodbye.

I turned and walked toward the storage room at the back of the property.

When I pushed the door open, boxes were stacked on boxes, bags piled on bags.

I crouched down and began sorting through them, piece by piece.

Nothing else mattered. I needed to find my mother's vintage brooch.

It was an heirloom — passed from my grandmother to my mother, and from my mother to me...

It was the only thing in this house that truly belonged to me.

I finally found it at the very bottom of the last box.

I clutched it in my palm and let out a long, slow breath.

I was just gathering a few pieces of clothing to take when a small voice came from the doorway:

"What are you doing?"

I turned. Little Oliver Holt stood in the doorway, his small figure blocking the exit.

He looked exactly like Ethan — but that imperious, top-down posture was pure Vivienne Walsh.

"Taking my things."

I kept my head down and continued sorting.

Any other time, even when he was being difficult, I would have gone to him with hugs and kisses.

But this time, I was completely calm.

"Those aren't your things."

Seeing that I was ignoring him, he walked in.

He stepped squarely on the clothes I'd scattered across the floor. "Auntie Viv said everything in this house belongs to Daddy. You can't take a single thing."