Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT BEFORE OUR WEDDINGEthan didn’t lie.
In retrospect, that might have made everything worse.
He looked at the photograph on my phone.
Then the anonymous message.
Then me.
“I was with Victoria.”
Every nerve in my body seemed to go silent.
I nodded once.
“Okay.”
“Claire.”
“No, really. That’s surprisingly efficient. Usually people spend ten minutes pretending before destroying you.”
His expression darkened.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Fantastic. Which cliché comes next? You were only talking?”
“Yes.”
I laughed.
The sound hurt my own ears.
“Of course.”
Ethan stepped around the desk.
I moved backward.
He stopped immediately.
That detail mattered.
Even furious, even desperate to explain, Ethan never cornered people physically.
“I didn’t know she was in New York,” he said. “She called me that afternoon.”
“The afternoon before our wedding.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think that was something worth mentioning?”
“It wasn’t relevant.”
“To whom?”
“To our agreement.”
There was that word again.
Agreement.
I folded my arms over my chest.
“What did she want?”
“To stop the wedding.”
There it was.
The sentence I had somehow known was coming.
“She asked you not to marry me.”
“Yes.”
“And you met her anyway.”
“She said there was something I needed to know.”
“What?”
His mouth tightened.
“Her marriage was ending.”
I stared at him.
“You knew six months ago that Victoria planned to get divorced?”
“She told me she had left Andrew.”
“Did she tell you she wanted you back?”
“Yes.”
The room tilted.
I caught the edge of his desk.
Ethan instantly moved forward.
I held up one hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she wanted you, and the next morning you married me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer came too quickly.
“Because we had a contract.”
I smiled.
It was a terrible smile.
“I see.”
“Claire, that isn’t—”
“You needed the shares.”
“And you needed the money.”
Every word was objectively true.
Yet each one felt increasingly cruel.
I nodded toward the door.
“I’m going to bed.”
“You asked where I was.”
“I got my answer.”
“No, you got part of it.”
I didn’t move.
Ethan took a breath.
“I met Victoria at the Lowell Hotel bar. She told me leaving me had been the worst mistake of her life. She told me Andrew had been cheating on her. She said she wanted to come home.”
“And?”
“I told her I was getting married.”
“She knew that.”
“I told her I intended to honor it.”
“A one-year financial arrangement?”
His eyes flashed.
“I didn't describe our marriage to her.”
“So she thinks this is real?”
“Everyone thinks it’s real.”
“Except us.”
Something passed across his face.
Gone before I could identify it.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“Acting as though I betrayed you.”
My humiliation turned instantly into anger.
“You’re right.”
I straightened.
“You didn’t betray me. That requires a real marriage.”
His jaw locked.
“That isn't what I said.”
“But it's what our contract says.”
“We haven’t lived according to that contract in months.”
I stared.
He continued before I could respond.
“I was supposed to live my life. You were supposed to live yours. We were supposed to appear together twice a week and maintain separate schedules.”
“We do have separate schedules.”
“You started packing my lunch when I forget to eat.”
“That’s basic human decency.”
“You reorganized your mother’s Thanksgiving dinner because I had a board meeting.”
“Because you’re my husband.”
He stepped closer.
I stopped breathing.
“You fall asleep in the library waiting for me when I’m working late.”
“I like the library.”
“You hate reading downstairs alone.”
I said nothing.
“You know which meetings make me nervous even though I never tell you.”
“You pace.”
“You call my grandmother every Wednesday.”
“She’s lonely.”
“She has eleven grandchildren.”
“I like her.”
“And every morning, you leave coffee outside my study when I have a six o’clock call.”
“That doesn’t make this a real marriage.”
His voice became quieter.
“Doesn't it?”
Neither of us moved.
My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
“What are you saying?” I whispered.
Ethan opened his mouth.
His phone rang.
We both looked toward the desk.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
Ethan glanced at the screen.
His expression changed.
“Who is it?”
“My security director.”
He answered.
“Cole.”
I watched his face.
The softness disappeared.
“What?”
Silence.
“When?”
More silence.
“Yes. Lock everything.”
My stomach tightened.
Ethan ended the call.
“What happened?”
He looked at my phone.
“Someone accessed the private archive on my company server.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with us?”
“The archive contains personal legal documents.”
The answer hit me.
“Our marriage contract?”
“Yes.”
My blood turned cold.
“Did they download it?”
“They downloaded something.”
“Can you tell what?”
“Not yet.”
My phone buzzed.
We both looked down.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
A scanned page.
My signature.
Ethan’s signature.
And above them:
TEMPORARY MARITAL AGREEMENT.
My knees nearly gave out.
A message appeared beneath it.
How much do you think Mrs. Billionaire is worth once Manhattan learns she was bought?
Ethan read it over my shoulder.
His face became terrifyingly calm.
“Give me the phone.”
“Why?”
“Claire.”
I handed it to him.
He called his security director again.
“Cole, trace a number. Now.”
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“This is going public.”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I won’t allow it.”
“You can't control everything, Ethan.”
“I can control more than whoever sent this realizes.”
He walked toward me.
“We’re leaving.”
“What?”
“The penthouse may be compromised.”
“You think somebody broke in?”
“The file came from a server, but they knew your private number.”
“That isn’t difficult.”
“They knew exactly which page to send.”
He went into the hallway.
“Pack for three days.”
“Where are we going?”
“My house outside the city.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“Cancel it.”
“Absolutely not.”
He stopped.
“Claire, somebody stole confidential information and threatened you.”
“They threatened your reputation.”
“They threatened my wife.”
The words silenced me.
His expression had gone cold in the way Manhattan businessmen feared.
“Pack.”
Thirty minutes later, snow was falling heavily as Ethan’s SUV crossed the Queensboro Bridge.
Neither of us spoke.
His security team followed in another vehicle.
I watched Manhattan shrink behind us.
Then another message appeared.
This one wasn’t anonymous.
Victoria.
Claire, I heard something happened. Are you okay?
I stared at it.
How would Victoria know?
I slowly turned toward Ethan.
“Did you tell her?”
“Tell who?”
“Victoria.”
“No.”
I showed him the message.
He read it.
His expression hardened.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Victoria had sent another message.
I’m sorry. I told them not to involve you.
Ethan took the phone from my hand.
“What the hell does that mean?”
A third message arrived.
This time, a photograph.
Ethan outside the Lowell Hotel six months earlier.
Victoria beside him.
But they weren’t simply talking.
Her arms were wrapped around his neck.
And his hands were on her waist.
The timestamp was 1:43 a.m.
The morning of our wedding.
I looked at him.
“Tell me there’s an explanation.”
“There is.”
“Were you kissing her?”
“No.”
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Why were you holding her?”
“She fell.”
I stared at him.
He actually looked irritated.
“She was drunk. She tried to kiss me. I pulled her off.”
“That photograph doesn't look like that.”
“I know.”
I swallowed.
“What happened after?”
“I put her in a cab.”
“And then?”
“I went home.”
“You arrived at three.”
“Yes.”
“What happened between 1:43 and three?”
His silence lasted too long.
My stomach sank.
“Ethan.”
He looked out at the snow.
Then he said, “I went somewhere first.”
“Where?”
“My mother’s grave.”
Every accusation disappeared from my mouth.
I knew almost nothing about Ethan’s mother.
She had died when he was nineteen.
Cancer.
He never discussed her.
“Why?”
He looked at me.
For the first time that night, billionaire Ethan Whitmore looked almost vulnerable.
“Because I was getting married in seven hours.”
“So?”
“So I wanted to tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
His eyes held mine.
“That I hoped I wasn’t making another mistake.”
My throat tightened.
“Another?”
“Victoria was the first.”
He looked down at the contract page glowing on my phone.
Then back at me.
“And Claire…”
His voice dropped.
“I wasn’t afraid marrying you was the mistake.”
May you like
I forgot how to breathe.
“I was afraid letting you go twelve months later would be.”
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