Chapter 4 - WHEN THE CONTRACT BECAME REALI didn't sleep.
Neither did Ethan.
We arrived at his family’s Hudson Valley estate shortly after four in the morning, although calling it a house seemed ridiculous.
The Whitmore property covered nearly sixty acres behind iron gates and old stone walls. The main residence had been built in 1911, with gray stone, enormous windows and chimneys that looked like something from an English estate.
Ethan gave me the east bedroom.
I stood in the doorway.
“You said this was your childhood home.”
“It was.”
“Which room was yours?”
He pointed across the hall.
I almost laughed.
“Separate bedrooms even here?”
His expression changed.
“That was your rule.”
I remembered.
Six months earlier, during contract negotiations, I had insisted on separate bedrooms.
Not because I feared Ethan.
Because I feared myself.
Sleeping beside the man I loved while pretending not to love him had seemed impossible.
Now the rule felt like punishment.
He noticed my hesitation.
“Claire?”
“I’m tired.”
“Right.”
He turned away.
“Ethan.”
He stopped.
I should have asked what he meant in the car.
I should have demanded clarification.
Instead I said, “Good night.”
His shoulders shifted slightly.
“Good night.”
Coward.
I called myself that as soon as I shut the door.
By morning, Whitmore security had discovered the stolen contract file had been accessed using credentials belonging to Ethan’s executive assistant, Matthew Cole.
Not his security director, Michael Cole.
Another Cole.
No relation.
Matthew had worked for Ethan for four years.
When security reached his apartment, he was gone.
His company laptop was sitting on the kitchen table.
His phone was in the sink.
And $250,000 had appeared in an offshore account bearing his name.
It looked obvious.
Which made Ethan suspicious.
“Too clean,” he said over breakfast.
I sat opposite him wearing one of his old navy sweaters because I had forgotten to pack anything warm.
He kept glancing at the sweater.
Finally I asked, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You've looked at me six times.”
“It was my college sweater.”
“Do you want it back?”
“No.”
His eyes dropped toward his coffee.
“It looks better on you.”
My traitorous heart performed gymnastics.
I changed the subject.
“Who benefits from exposing the contract?”
“My cousin.”
“Alexander?”
He nodded.
I knew Alexander Whitmore.
Everybody in New York finance did.
Ethan and Alexander had grown up like brothers and become corporate enemies after their grandfather died.
If Ethan failed to satisfy the trust conditions, Alexander received the voting shares and could force a leadership challenge at Whitmore Global.
“But we’ve been married six months.”
“The trust requires twelve.”
“If people find out the marriage is contractual, does that invalidate it?”
“Possibly.”
“That’s incredibly convenient for Alexander.”
“Yes.”
“But Victoria somehow knew we had trouble.”
“Yes.”
I stopped.
“You think they’re working together.”
“I think coincidences become less convincing when there are three of them.”
My appetite vanished.
I put down my toast.
“Why would Victoria work with Alexander?”
“To get rid of you.”
He said it casually.
I stared.
“Comforting.”
Ethan looked up.
“I didn't mean physically.”
“Still comforting.”
“Victoria believes if our marriage ends, I'll return to her.”
“And Alexander gets your shares.”
“Yes.”
“So everybody wins except us.”
His eyes remained on mine.
“Except us.”
Again.
Us.
The word kept appearing.
I decided I couldn’t survive another conversation built from implications.
“What did you mean last night?”
“I said several things.”
“At your mother’s grave.”
Recognition crossed his face.
I continued.
“You said you were afraid letting me go after twelve months would be a mistake.”
He leaned back.
For once, Ethan Whitmore seemed genuinely uncertain.
“I meant exactly that.”
“That clears up nothing.”
A hint of amusement appeared.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn frightened when a conversation becomes personal and compensate by becoming argumentative.”
“I am not frightened.”
“You’re wearing my sweater backward.”
I looked down.
The tag was visible beneath my chin.
Damn him.
I crossed my arms.
“Answer me.”
His amusement disappeared.
Ethan stood.
He walked toward the window.
Outside, snow covered the gardens.
“When I offered you the arrangement, I chose you because I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He turned around.
“You don’t.”
He put both hands in his pockets.
“I could have found fifty women willing to sign that agreement.”
“I’m sure.”
“Some would have done it for free.”
“You're modest too.”
“Claire.”
“Sorry.”
He continued.
“I chose you because you were the only woman I knew who didn't change around me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“I changed completely around you when I was sixteen.”
His eyes narrowed.
I froze.
Oh no.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You knew me when you were sixteen?”
Wonderful.
After thirteen years of hiding that particular humiliation, I had apparently decided to confess while wearing his sweater backward.
“You came into my father’s shop during a thunderstorm.”
He stared.
“You were seventeen. Your car broke down. You helped me with chemistry.”
His face went strangely blank.
“You were the girl behind the counter.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“You remember?”
“You had yellow paint on your cheek.”
I had forgotten that.
“We were repainting the back room.”
“You told me ionic compounds were invented specifically to ruin your GPA.”
I stared.
“You remember that?”
“I remember you.”
Something shifted between us.
I swallowed.
“Then why didn't you recognize me years later?”
“You looked completely different.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“You had braces and purple hair.”
“It was temporary dye.”
“You also called me ‘rich boy’ for forty minutes.”
“You were arrogant.”
“I was seventeen.”
“You were arrogant at twenty-seven too.”
He almost smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“When I realized who you were, your father had just died.”
“When?”
“The funeral.”
“You knew?”
He nodded.
“I didn't say anything because it felt strange to bring up a teenage memory when you were grieving.”
I sat there trying to process this.
The story I had carried privately for years had not been mine alone.
Ethan remembered.
Maybe not the way I did.
But he remembered.
He crossed the room slowly.
“When I offered you the contract, I thought you were safe.”
The word pinched.
“Safe.”
“For me.”
He stopped across from me.
“I didn't expect to like being married to you.”
I looked down.
“High praise.”
“I didn't expect to wait for the elevator because I wanted to ride upstairs with you.”
My throat tightened.
“I didn't expect to care whether you came home late.”
He took another step.
“I didn't expect your clothes in my closet to make my apartment feel less empty.”
“Ethan…”
“I didn't expect to memorize your coffee order.”
He smiled faintly.
“Or discover you sing terribly while arranging flowers.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
I stood.
We were close now.
Too close.
“When did this happen?” I whispered.
“I don't know.”
“You always know everything.”
“Not this.”
For one terrible, beautiful second, I thought he might kiss me.
His eyes dropped toward my mouth.
My breath caught.
Then a car engine sounded outside.
Ethan looked toward the window.
A black sedan came through the gates.
“Who is that?”
He checked his phone.
His face hardened.
“No one invited.”
The car stopped in front of the house.
A woman stepped out.
Camel-colored coat.
Dark glasses.
Perfect blonde hair.
Victoria.
I actually laughed.
“You have got to be kidding.”
Ethan looked furious.
A housekeeper entered several minutes later.
“Mr. Whitmore, Miss Ashford says she needs to speak with you.”
“No.”
Victoria’s voice floated from the hallway.
“I’m afraid this can’t wait.”
She appeared in the doorway.
Her gaze went directly to me.
Barefoot.
Messy hair.
Wearing Ethan’s sweater.
Something sharp flashed in her eyes.
Good.
Let it.
“What do you want?” Ethan asked.
Victoria closed the door.
“I came to warn you.”
“About what?”
“Alexander.”
Ethan’s face remained unreadable.
Victoria placed a folder on the table.
“He approached me three months ago.”
“Why?”
“He wanted information about Claire.”
I felt cold.
Ethan didn’t move.
“What information?”
Victoria looked at me.
“Everything.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“Yet somehow you knew our contract was stolen within hours.”
Victoria’s eyes flickered.
Ethan noticed.
“So did you,” he said.
She hesitated.
Then sighed.
“Because Alexander called me last night.”
“What did he say?”
Victoria’s voice dropped.
“He said your marriage would be over by Monday.”
Silence.
May you like
Then she looked directly at me.
“And he said Claire would be the one who ended it.”
Related Stories
