Chapter 5

Ethan didn't ask where I had gone.

He only said over the phone:

"Come home early tonight. Chloe's press release needs your sign-off."

I stood on the sidewalk, my ankle wrapped in a cold brace.

When I returned to our historic townhouse, Ethan's PR team was sitting in the living room.

Chloe, wearing the sneakers tied with my ruined silk ribbons, was reviewing the interview outline.

"Olivia, you're finally back."

"Some people online are saying I stole your project. Ethan said it would all blow over if you just clarify things."

Ethan handed me an iPad.

It showed a statement.

The gist of it was that I had voluntarily stepped back from the promotion, and Chloe was simply helping me present the charity work.

The so-called "stealing of shoes and projects" was just a misunderstanding between friends.

After reading it, I placed the iPad back on the table.

"I'm not posting this."

The PR manager's expression shifted.

But Ethan remained calm.

"Olivia, the public backlash has already started. Just say a word. It's better for everyone."

Chloe bit her lip.

"Olivia, I'm really getting dragged online."

"You know my family just went bankrupt. I have nothing left now."

I stared at the ribbons on her feet. Ethan stood up.

"Olivia, enough."

"I replaced the shoes, and you're still working on the project."

"Chloe just needs a temporary opportunity. Why do you have to push her into a corner like this?"

I shot back, "What about you? Have you not pushed me into a corner?"

He stared at me, frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You have the studio, you have Blackwood Enterprises' resources, and you have me."

"What does Chloe have?"

I suddenly found it incredibly laughable.

So having him was, in his eyes, a form of compensation that could wipe away all my grievances.

Ethan handed me his phone.

"Olivia, don't make things difficult for me in front of others."

Chloe said softly, "Ethan, let it go. If Olivia doesn't want to, forget it. I shouldn't have come back anyway."

She stood up to leave but tripped on her feet.

Ethan caught her immediately.

The ribbon-wrapped sneakers struck the leg of the coffee table, ripping the old fabric further.

My mind went completely blank.

Ethan followed my gaze, and his face turned pale for a split second.

But Chloe cried first.

"I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose. I'm just so clumsy. I can't do anything right."

Ethan helped her sit down, then turned to me.

"Don't look at her like that."

"Olivia, if you don't post the statement today, I will freeze the funding for the project."

"The studio's lease is under Blackwood Enterprises. Think carefully."

The PR team remained silent.

Chloe kept her head down, but her fingers were tightly gripping the frayed ribbon.

I heard my own voice ask, "So you want me to endorse her lie?"

Ethan said, "It's not an endorsement. It's for the bigger picture."

The bigger picture.

I nodded and took the phone.

Ethan's expression softened as I posted the statement exactly as written.

Within minutes, the comments shifted.

Some praised my generosity.

Some pitied Chloe.

Others said that anyone truly doing charity wouldn't care about getting credit.

Seeing the public opinion die down, Ethan looked relieved.

"Tomorrow, I'll take you to buy shoes. You can pick whatever limited edition you want."

"Olivia, let's stop fighting."

I looked at the smear of ointment on his cuff. I suddenly remembered how he had opened the tube of medicine for Chloe last night.

My heel was still taped with a band-aid, and it still hurt to walk.

But I no longer wanted him to know.

The next day, Ethan actually went to the luxury boutique.

The sales associate lined up ten pairs of limited-edition flats. The colors, leather, and sizes were all chosen according to my taste.

"Wrap them all up," Ethan said.

The associate smiled. "Mr. Blackwood is so good to his wife."

Ethan's fingers paused, but he didn't deny it.

At nine in the evening, he returned to the townhouse carrying ten luxury shoe boxes.

The lights in the living room were off.

He frowned and called out, "Olivia?"

No one answered.

Ethan put the shoe boxes down in the entryway and opened the shoe cabinet.

The row that used to be filled with my shoes was completely empty.

His hands froze.

The door to the walk-in closet was half-open. Only empty hangers remained inside.

My suitcase was gone, my passport was gone, and even the ruined ballet slippers in the glass cabinet were gone.

On the top shelf of the shoe cabinet, only a single key remained.

Beneath the key lay a divorce agreement, signed with my name.

The luxury shoe boxes in Ethan's hands crashed to the floor.