Chapter 3

Jamie's POV

"I'm not going."

If we were getting divorced, I had no business showing up at public events anymore. I wasn't going to lay the groundwork for Sophia. I wasn't going to become the laughingstock of the whole city.

"You have to." Ethan dropped the warmth from his voice, his expression matter-of-fact. "Sophia just got back. Her situation is delicate. If you're there, nobody will dare say anything."

"You need to show up as my wife and make it clear she's welcome. That way, when we get together, there'll be less pushback."

He wanted me to appear as his wife. To publicly embrace his first love. To personally pave the road for their true romance.

How could a person be this cruel without even knowing it?

And yet Ethan looked completely at ease, as if his request was perfectly reasonable.

"Does it really have to be this way?" I looked up at him. My eyes were threaded with red.

Ethan paused. He seemed caught off guard by how worn out I looked, though he chalked it up to work stress.

He softened his tone and slipped into the easy, coaxing voice he always used when he wanted something.

"Jamie, please. Just this once, the last time. You know Sophia. She's sensitive. The smallest thing can hurt her."

"Do this one last thing for me. Okay?"

Okay?

For twenty-two years, every time he asked me something that way, I had never once said no.

I closed my eyes. Swallowed the bitterness.

"Fine. The last time."

Ethan exhaled like a weight had lifted. "Thanks, Jamie. Having you in my life is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He hummed cheerfully to himself as he headed upstairs.

I stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the abandoned ring on the table. It seemed to stare back, coldly mocking five years of everything I had felt.

That night, I dreamed.

There was no Sophia in the dream. Just sophomore year of college. Ethan had twisted his ankle during a basketball game, and I had carried him on my back for nearly two miles in the midday heat to get to the campus health center.

Sweat ran down my neck and soaked into my collar. Ethan lay sprawled across my back, talking the whole way.

In the dream, he asked: "Jamie, am I too heavy?"

Dream-me said nothing. Just clenched my jaw and kept walking, one step at a time.

The charity gala was spectacular.

I wore a black velvet blazer.

When I walked in on Ethan's arm, flashbulbs erupted around us.

"Mr. and Mrs. Foster are such a perfect couple, still so devoted after all these years."

"Absolutely. Jamie has been the backbone of Foster Group. So much of what the company has achieved is because of her."

Compliments closed in from all sides.

Ethan smiled his polished public smile and leaned down to murmur in my ear. "See? Everyone says we're perfect together. I keep telling you, I can't do any of this without you."

I said nothing. My gaze drifted through the crowd and settled on a figure tucked into the far corner of the ballroom.

Sophia Whitfield stood in a white chiffon gown, her hair loose over her shoulders, like a small, trembling flower.

The moment Ethan's eyes found her, nothing else existed.

He steered me toward her without hesitation.

"Ethan..." Sophia looked up at him, and her eyes immediately filled with tears.

"Don't cry. I'm here." He reached for her, and I blocked him, smoothly, almost invisibly.

"Ethan. Not here." My voice was quiet and precise.

He stiffened slightly, then recovered. "Sophia, you remember Jamie. You used to be terrified of her when we were kids."

Sophia shrank a little behind him. "Hi, Jamie. Thank you for taking care of Ethan all these years."

"No need to thank me. It was mutually beneficial." My tone was flat.

A cluster of men drifted over with their drinks, led by a man named Derek. His gaze slid over Sophia with barely concealed interest before landing on me with a smirk.

"Jamie! Love the suit. Didn't know Ethan brought a bodyguard tonight."

Laughter rippled through the group.

Ethan's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, then he punched Derek in the arm with a grin. "Knock it off. Don't give her a hard time. Jamie's got more presence in her little finger than any of you clowns."

It was the kind of defense that sounded more like a joke between friends. It dressed me in armor and, in the same breath, stripped away everything soft about me.

Derek dropped his voice, leering at Ethan. "Come on, man, it's gotta be rough, right? A woman should be soft, like Sophia. Something you can actually hold. Jamie's all sharp edges. You afraid she'll poke you?"

The words were designed to humiliate.

I tightened my grip on my glass and watched Ethan. Waiting.

I was his wife. Whatever our marriage was in private, in public he was supposed to protect my dignity. That was the bare minimum.

Ethan glanced at me. My face was unreadable, my posture straight.

Maybe he was too used to me being "strong." Maybe he was worried about what Sophia might read into it. Whatever the reason, he just smiled lightly and said: "Alright, enough. Jamie and I aren't like that. Don't talk about her that way."

My heart sank all the way to the floor.

Then the doors of the ballroom burst open, and a group of masked men stormed in wielding bats and blades.