Chapter 3

The next day, I moved into the executive apartment the company had assigned me years ago.

Ethan refused to sign the divorce papers.

For the next week, he sent apologies every morning.

Flowers arrived at the office. Jewelry came in boxes with handwritten notes. Voice messages filled my phone with words he had not bothered to say when they might have mattered.

I replied once.

Sign within seven days, or we go to court.

On Thursday afternoon, a meeting across town ended just as rain started pouring hard enough to blur the road. I was soaked by the time I left the client's building.

One of my premarital properties was nearby, a quiet apartment I had bought years before Ethan's name touched any of my assets.

I went there to change.

At the door, I typed the code.

Wrong password.

I tried again.

Wrong password.

Water ran from my hair down my neck. The hallway was cold, and the thin blouse clung to my skin.

Then the door opened from the inside.

Chloe Lane stood barefoot in my silk robe.

My silk robe.

She looked at my wet hair, then at the puddle forming under my shoes, and laughed.

"Vivian," she said, tilting her head. "You're drenched."

I stepped forward.

She did not move.

"Mr. Shaw said this place was empty," she said. "Since you got me fired, I couldn't pay rent anymore. He told me to stay here for a while. You don't mind, right?"

I pushed past her.

Behind me, she gasped.

"Careful. I just mopped."

The bedroom closet was full of Chloe's clothes.

My clothes were gone.

Chloe leaned against the doorway, smiling.

"I moved your stuff to the guest room," she said. "You don't use this place anyway. It felt wasteful to leave the master closet empty."

In the guest room, my dresses and coats were piled across the bed and floor. A lipstick stain marked the sleeve of one cream blouse.

I changed silently. Dried my hair. Drank a few mouthfuls of hot water until the shivering stopped.

Then I walked back into the living room.

Chloe was painting her nails on my white leather sofa. Drops of polish had stained the cushion in red, pink, and glittering gold.

She blew on her nails.

"Since you got the floor wet, remember to mop before you go," she said. "Basic manners."

I slapped her.

The sound cracked through the apartment.

Chloe's face snapped sideways. The nail polish bottle rolled off the table.

The front door opened.

A plastic grocery bag hit the floor.

Ethan rushed in and pulled Chloe behind him.

His face was full of disappointment, as if I had failed a test he had been kind enough to let me take.

"Vivian," he said. "How did you become like this?"

Chloe covered her cheek. Tears rolled beautifully down her face.

"Mr. Shaw, don't fight because of me," she sobbed. "If slapping me makes Vivian stop talking about divorce, she can hit me again. I don't mind."

Ethan's eyes darkened.

"Apologize to Chloe."

I laughed once.

"Ethan," I said, very slowly, "I have been too generous with your face."

Chloe hid behind his shoulder like a startled deer.

"Vivian looks so scary," she whispered. "Is she going to hit me again?"

I took out my phone.

"I'm calling the police."

Ethan's expression changed.

"Vivian, don't be dramatic."

I ignored him.

"Someone entered my private property without permission," I told the dispatcher. "They changed the door code and appear to have stolen personal items."

My gaze landed on Chloe's neck.

A pigeon-blood ruby necklace rested against her collarbone.

A birthday gift from a jeweler I had once helped with a crisis merger.

"Including jewelry valued at nearly one million dollars."

Chloe's face went white.

Her hand flew to the necklace.

"How dare you call the police?"

The panic stripped her voice bare.

"You were supposed to break down and scream over the necklace like some crazy wife."

I tilted my head.

"You spent all that time writing my script," I said. "You should have spent a little more writing your statement to the police."

The officers arrived quickly.

Ethan insisted he had given Chloe the code. He insisted he had allowed her to stay.

One officer looked at the property deed on my phone, then at Chloe's stolen necklace.

"This apartment is Ms. Hart's premarital property," he said. "Mr. Shaw's permission does not override the owner's consent. And given the estimated value of the necklace, we need Ms. Lane to come with us for questioning."

Chloe looked at Ethan with helpless, tear-filled eyes.

"Mr. Shaw..."

The door closed behind her.

Ethan loosened his tie with a sharp tug.

"Why can't you tolerate one young woman?" he said. "You got her fired. Now you want her in jail?"

I was tired.

Not heartbroken anymore.

Just tired of watching a man call my boundaries cruelty because they inconvenienced his guilt.

"You know what happens if I press charges," I said. "With that necklace alone, she is looking at years."

Ethan stilled.

"I can withdraw the complaint," I said. "On one condition. Sign the divorce papers. Today."

I was about to be promoted to Executive President of Overseas Markets. A drawn-out divorce would waste time I refused to donate to Ethan and his intern.

He stared at me.

When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.

"Is this really where we are now?"

I looked at him without blinking.

After a long silence, his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides.

"Fine," he said. "I'll sign."

As he passed me, he murmured, "One day I'll prove to you there was never anything between us."

The door slammed behind him.

That was my answer.