Chapter 2 - FIVE MILLION DOLLARS TO DISAPPEARThe envelope arrived at 5:12 the next morning.
I know the exact time because I hadn't slept.
I had spent the night sitting on the edge of our bed while Ethan called me seventeen times.
I never answered.
Every object in the apartment suddenly looked like evidence.
The chipped blue coffee mugs we'd bought at a thrift store.
The couch Ethan and I had carried up four flights because paying movers was “ridiculous.”
The little kitchen table he'd repaired twice instead of replacing.
Three years of memories had transformed into props from a performance I hadn't known I was watching.
At some point after midnight, Ethan came home.
I had locked the chain.
“Mia.”
He knocked softly.
“Please open the door.”
I stayed silent.
“I know what you saw.”
That hurt more than I expected.
So he knew.
He knew exactly how devastating it looked, and yet somewhere between his mother's mansion and our apartment he had apparently decided explanations could wait.
“Mia, please.”
I approached the door but didn't open it.
“How much money do you have?”
Silence.
I laughed bitterly.
“That difficult?”
“It's complicated.”
“No. Numbers are usually the least complicated part.”
“Mia—”
“Are you a billionaire?”
Another silence.
That was my answer.
My forehead rested against the door.
“Go away.”
“I can explain everything.”
“Did you ever deliver food because you needed money?”
His breathing changed.
“No.”
“Did you ever worry we couldn't pay rent?”
“No.”
“Did you know I skipped lunch twice last month because we were short?”
“Mia…”
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
My eyes filled.
That answer destroyed whatever sympathy remained.
“You watched me go hungry.”
“I didn't know you were skipping meals until afterward.”
“But you knew we were struggling.”
“Yes.”
“And you had millions.”
“I couldn't access most of it.”
“Most?”
I nearly laughed again.
“How much could you access?”
He didn't answer.
“How much, Ethan?”
“Enough.”
I opened the door.
He stood in the hallway wearing the same black suit.
I barely recognized him.
“Enough for what?”
He looked exhausted.
“Enough that you should never have had to worry.”
My hand moved before I thought.
The slap cracked through the hallway.
Ethan didn't retaliate.
Didn't even touch his cheek.
“You let me believe every dollar mattered.”
“I wanted you to know me without the money.”
“You could've told me after six months.”
“I was afraid.”
“Three years, Ethan.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
I held up the ultrasound picture.
“You built our entire relationship on a lie.”
“I love you.”
“And I'm pregnant with a man I've never met.”
His eyes immediately dropped to the image.
Pain crossed his face.
“That's our baby.”
“Don't.”
“Mia.”
“Leave.”
“I won't let my mother come between us.”
I stared at him.
“Your mother didn't lie to me for three years.”
He flinched.
I shut the door.
Twenty minutes later, he finally left.
At 5:12, someone slipped the envelope underneath it.
There was no return address.
Inside was a check.
I stared at the number.
$5,000,000.
My hands started shaking.
Underneath it lay a handwritten note.
Ms. Torres,
Take this as an opportunity, not an insult. Leave New York immediately. End all contact with Ethan. In exchange, the money is yours and your child's future will be secure.
Should you refuse, you may find that raising a child connected to the Ashford family becomes considerably more complicated.
—Victoria Ashford
I read the final sentence six times.
It wasn't a bribe anymore.
It was a threat.
I photographed everything.
Then I called the only person I trusted completely.
My older brother, Gabriel.
He arrived forty minutes later in hospital scrubs.
Gabriel was an emergency-room nurse who had spent most of his adult life telling me to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt.
The moment he saw the check, he sat down.
“Five million?”
“Yes.”
“To leave?”
“Yes.”
He reread Victoria's note.
Then his expression changed.
“She threatened your baby.”
“That's what I thought.”
“Don't deposit this.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Don't destroy it either.”
“What do I do?”
“Lawyer.”
“I can't afford one.”
Gabriel lifted the check.
“Something tells me there are attorneys who'd enjoy hearing about this.”
By nine that morning, we were sitting in the modest office of Denise Walker, an attorney Gabriel knew from the hospital.
Denise was forty-five, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by wealth.
She inspected the note.
“Keep every message. Every voicemail. Every communication.”
“Can she take my baby?”
“Not because she's rich.”
“But she can try.”
“Yes.”
I appreciated that Denise didn't lie to comfort me.
“Ethan is the father,” she continued. “If he pursues parental rights, that's separate. But his mother cannot simply decide she owns your child.”
I swallowed.
“And the money?”
“Do not touch it.”
She photocopied the check.
“What does the Ashford family actually do?”
I shook my head.
“I don't even know.”
Denise typed Ethan's full legal name.
Then she stopped.
Gabriel leaned closer.
“What?”
She turned the monitor.
My boyfriend's face appeared beside a headline.
ASHFORD HEIR RETURNS TO FAMILY EMPIRE AHEAD OF $14 BILLION MERGER
My stomach twisted.
Fourteen billion.
Another article.
ETHAN ASHFORD COLE EXPECTED TO ASSUME VICE CHAIRMAN ROLE
Another.
Photographs of Ethan at eighteen.
Twenty-one.
Twenty-four.
Boardrooms.
Charity galas.
Private jets.
I had never seen any of them.
Then Denise opened one article and frowned.
“Mia.”
“What?”
“Did Ethan ever tell you why he disappeared from public life?”
“No.”
She turned the screen.
The headline was five years old.
ASHFORD HEIR VANISHES FROM SOCIAL SCENE AFTER FIANCÉE'S DEATH
My chest tightened.
“Fiancée?”
Ethan had never told me he'd been engaged.
The woman was beautiful.
Her name was Camille Davenport.
Twenty-six years old.
Her car had gone off a bridge during heavy rain.
The article described Ethan as devastated.
I pushed away from the desk.
Another lie.
Then my phone rang.
Ethan.
I nearly ignored it.
Denise stopped me.
“Answer. Speakerphone.”
I did.
“Mia.”
His voice sounded frantic.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Did my mother contact you?”
I looked at the check.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“What did she do?”
“She offered me five million dollars.”
Silence.
Then Ethan swore.
“For what?”
“To disappear.”
His breathing sharpened.
“Mia, listen carefully. Do not meet her alone.”
Gabriel exchanged a glance with Denise.
“Why?”
“Because this isn't the first time she's done something like this.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“I should have told you everything.”
“Yes. You should have.”
“Mia, Camille didn't just die in a car accident.”
Nobody in the room moved.
Ethan continued.
“She was pregnant too.”
My hand gripped the phone.
“And three days before she died, my mother offered her money to leave me.”
I whispered,
“What happened when she refused?”
Ethan's voice broke.
“She disappeared.”
A cold weight settled in my stomach.
“And then?”
“Her car went into the river.”
Denise stood immediately.
“Mr. Cole,” she said, “this is Denise Walker. I'm representing Mia.”
“Mia hired a lawyer?”
“She received what could reasonably be interpreted as a threat involving her unborn child.”
Ethan went silent.
Then he said something none of us expected.
“Good.”
Denise frowned.
“Good?”
“Yes. Keep her somewhere safe.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Ethan, what are you afraid of?”
There was noise on his end.
A door closing.
Then his voice dropped.
“My mother doesn't know that I know what she did five years ago.”
“What did she do?”
“I don't have enough proof yet.”
“Proof of what?”
Another pause.
Then Ethan answered.
“That Camille's death was not an accident.”
I stared at the ultrasound photograph lying beside Victoria's check.
And for the first time since learning Ethan was rich, the money stopped mattering.
Because if Ethan was telling the truth, I hadn't simply fallen in love with a billionaire who lied about being poor.
May you like
I had gotten pregnant inside a family where money could erase people.
And Victoria Ashford had just paid five million dollars for me to disappear.
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