Chapter 3

In my memory, Ethan’s past was never this dramatic. It was just a brief, teenage fling that fizzled out naturally.

We had been married for twelve years, and his first love was never some forbidden taboo topic.

The Vance and Sterling families were legacy dynasties; Ethan and I had grown up together in the same private country clubs.

I vaguely remembered that he had dated his college tutor for a couple of months before they broke up amicably. His mother, while strict, was hardly the cartoon villain who wrote movie-style hush checks.

Unfortunately, his mother had passed away years ago, leaving nobody to refute his narrative.

Because we had known each other our whole lives, I trusted him completely.

When I returned from studying abroad in London, the Sterling Group was on the verge of bankruptcy. Ethan had come to my family's estate, professing his deep devotion to me.

My father, having watched Ethan grow up, considered him upright and capable. Our families were equal in stature, and a merger of our assets promised immense mutual growth. Coupled with the quiet crush I had harbored on him for years, the marriage felt like destiny.

I remembered his proposal vividly. He had handed me a custom diamond ring and whispered, "There might be five thousand roses in the world just like you, Clara, but to me, you are my only, irreplaceable rose."

For twelve years, he boasted at every gala that in business, we were unmatched partners, and in private, I was the rare, brilliant red rose of his heart.

Confident, elegant, fierce, and sharp.

I had been his greatest asset.

How could I have known that while he showed off his vibrant red rose, he was secretly pining for a pure, untouchable white lily?

That night in the hospital was endless and suffocating.

Tossing and turning, I finally drifted off with my head resting on Leo’s bed.

When I woke up, Ethan was standing beside me, looking disheveled and exhausted.

"You're still wearing the suit from the press conference," I said coolly.

His face flashed white, then red.

"You... saw it?"

"It’s trending number one across every platform. Hard to miss."

Before Ethan could stumble through an excuse, Leo stirred awake.

We had waited six years into our marriage to have Leo, prioritizing our careers first. He was our miracle child, showered with every ounce of our love.

The moment Leo saw Ethan, his lower lip trembled, and tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Daddy... do you not want me anymore? The kids at preschool said... they said you're leaving us."

Ethan’s face darkened instantly. He turned his head and shot me a glare so cold, so accusatory, that it felt like a slap. It was the look he reserved for hostile corporate rivals during hostile takeovers.

Suspicion. Pure and unadulterated.

Our foundation of mutual trust shattered into dust. Or maybe, the moment trust requires careful scrutiny, it’s already dead.

I gave a bitter shrug, signaling my innocence.

I knew he wouldn’t believe me, but pride kept me from begging.

Ethan turned back to Leo, his voice instantly dropping into a gentle, soothing register.

"Daddy will always be your daddy, Leo. You’re such a good boy. Why would I ever leave you?"

The unspoken implication hung heavily in the air: Be good, or you might get abandoned.

For the first time in thirty years, I looked at the man I had married and felt like I was staring at a total stranger.

Out in the hospital corridor.

Ethan unsheathed his blade for the first time.

"Did you feed those words to our son?" he hissed. "If you have a problem with my movie, talk to me directly. Why drag an innocent five-year-old into this? He’s your child too, Clara!"

"Why didn't you talk to me before broadcasting that ridiculous confession to the world?" I countered, refusing to dignify his absurd accusation. I was a corporate executive, not a desperate housewife playing dirty games with her child.

Ethan turned his back to me, his tone defensive and haughty. "Under my leadership, the Sterling Group has quadrupled its market cap. Do I really need your permission to make an indie film processing my past? Clara, don't you think you're overstepping?"

The words sounded sickeningly ironic.

I remembered the days when he first took the reins of his family's sinking ship, wrapping his arms around me late at night, begging for advice: “You’re my wife, Clara. My company is your company. Nobody dares question you. Big things, small things—you make the call.”

And now? He was the one questioning me.

He had conveniently forgotten that without Vance money and Vance connections, the Sterling Group would have been carved up and liquidated a decade ago.

"I am your wife," I whispered, echoing the words he used to say.

Ethan turned around, softening his expression as he took hold of my arms. "Baby, please. Stop making a scene. I swear to you, this is just me making peace with an old mistake."

The subtext was loud and clear: Relax, this is just an itch I need to scratch. You’re still the woman running the house.

What a joke. Did he really think I would stay and play the dutiful, long-suffering matriarch?

I brushed his hands off with disgust. "Don't touch me. My allergy to sheer stupidity is acting up."