Chapter 2

I went to the airport and bought the next available ticket back to Chicago.

That apartment had been one we'd picked out together. Open kitchen, floor-to-ceiling windows, our fifth anniversary photo hanging on the wall. In the picture, I was smiling like an idiot, leaning against his shoulder, as if I actually had a home.

When I pushed open the door, the silence was deafening.

Two pairs of slippers in the entryway. His razor still in the bathroom. A sticky note on the fridge in his handwriting.

"Don't skip dinner. Love, R."

I stared at those words for a few seconds, peeled the note off, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the trash.

I hauled out a suitcase.

I didn't touch a single thing of his.

Of my own things, I took only my documents, a few changes of clothes, my laptop, and some design portfolios.

I'd just zipped the suitcase shut when the electronic lock at the front door clicked open.

Ryan stood in the doorway, windblown and haggard, his tie yanked loose, eyes bloodshot.

He'd followed me here.

When he saw the suitcase, he panicked.

"Ellie, don't do this."

I looked up.

"Move."

He strode over and pressed his hand down on mine.

"I admit I'm a bastard. I admit I was wrong. But I never once thought about divorcing you."

"Let go."

"No."

He pulled me into his arms, holding on so tight it was as though he thought I might vanish.

"That time with Kate was genuinely an accident. The headquarters celebration—I blacked out. By the time I woke up, it had already happened."

I laughed coldly in his arms.

"Then she got pregnant. The doctors said her body was fragile, that there was a high risk of miscarriage."

"What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just stand there and watch her die—watch the baby die."

He'd offloaded every ounce of responsibility onto accident and circumstance.

I shoved him off me with everything I had, then slapped him across the face.

The crack echoed through the living room.

Ryan's head snapped to the side. The skin reddened almost instantly.

I stared at him.

"Fine. The first child was an accident. What about the second one she's carrying now? Did you black out for that one too?"

He said nothing.

In that single second, I had every answer I needed.

He wasn't some universally soft-hearted man. He was simply soft—for her. And through her, that child had become his weakness.

Ryan clenched his jaw.

"Ellie, do you have to be this cruel about it?"

"Cruel?" I laughed. "Was it pretty when you were cheating?"

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I told you—you're my only wife. Most of the assets will stay with you. Kate doesn't want anything. She just wants to give the children a complete family."

His shamelessness actually made me laugh. But midway through the laughter, tears started falling.

"And what about me?" I asked.

He blinked. "What?"

"What am I? Your legal roommate? A decorative piece now that your career's taken off? A free stepmother for you and Kate's kids?"

"Don't say that."

"Then what do you want me to say?" My voice shook. "Congratulations? Should I throw her a baby shower? Or maybe just find myself a spot next to your family portrait?"

"Ryan Blackwell—do you think that because you've made it to the top, you're entitled to have both a wife and a mistress?"

"What is this marriage to you? What am I to you?"

"Then what exactly do you want me to do?" he snarled. "Strangle the two-year-old? Push Kate off a building?"

Ryan lowered his voice.

"Ellie, you never used to be this vicious."

A chill ran through me.

"So refusing to accept a mistress and a bastard child makes me vicious."

My phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

I opened it.

A photo.

Kate lying in a hospital bed, face pale, an IV in the back of her hand.

The caption read: "Ellie, I know Ryan went back to find you. I'm here alone in the hospital trying to save the baby. I'm really scared. But I don't blame you. As long as you two are okay, I can endure anything."

A second message popped up immediately after.

A photo of a share transfer agreement.

Ryan had transferred thirty percent of Blackwell Group's equity into the name of Oliver Blackwell.

His two-year-old illegitimate son.

I held the phone up to Ryan's face.

"This is what you meant by 'most of the assets stay with me'?"

Ryan saw the contents and his expression crumbled.

"Listen to me—my mother forced me to sign that. She said the child needed security."

"The child needed security," I repeated. "And what do my eight years count for?"

"Ellie…"

I didn't want to hear another word. I grabbed the suitcase handle.

"Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. City hall."

He froze.

"What?"

"We're getting divorced." I said it word by word. "If you don't show, I'll file. And while I'm at it, I'll upload this agreement, Kate's photo, and every wonderful thing you and your mother said today straight into the company's internal system."

Ryan's eyes reddened further. "Ellie, I can't—"

His phone rang.

Kate's name flashed on the screen.

He didn't answer. I looked back at him.

"Pick up. Isn't she all alone in the hospital, scared?"

His Adam's apple bobbed.

The phone kept ringing.

I dragged my suitcase toward the door.

Ryan didn't come after me.

Because in the end, he answered the call.

Kate's weak sobbing drifted out from behind me.

"Ryan, the doctor says the baby might not make it…"