Chapter 3 - THE BILLIONAIRE'S PERFECT LIFEEthan Sullivan had been awake since four in the morning.
He was standing in his penthouse office, thirty-eight floors above downtown Chicago, looking at a photograph from a life he'd convinced himself no longer mattered.
In the photograph, a young woman stood outside a tiny brick apartment building, laughing into the wind.
Her brown hair was tangled.
Her coat was cheap.
And she was holding a grocery bag with a loaf of bread sticking out of the top.
Claire.
His first wife.
The only woman who had ever loved him before he had money.
He kept the photograph in a locked drawer.
He never told anyone it existed.
And every time he looked at it, he remembered thirty dollars falling onto the floor.
Ten years later, he still heard the sound.
Three soft taps against polished wood.
Thirty dollars.
That was how he'd ended his marriage.
He had replayed that afternoon thousands of times, always telling himself a different story.
He'd been exhausted.
He'd been manipulated.
Claire had supposedly betrayed him.
The company had been collapsing.
He had no choice.
But none of those explanations changed what he'd done.
He had looked at his wife, watched her cry, and told her to leave.
And he had never gone after her.
His assistant interrupted him at seven.
"Mr. Sullivan? Your mother is here."
Ethan slid the photograph into the drawer.
"Send her in."
Margaret Sullivan entered carrying an expensive handbag and the confident expression of a woman accustomed to controlling every room.
She was sixty-eight now.
Her silver-blonde hair was perfectly arranged.
Diamonds sparkled at her throat.
She kissed Ethan's cheek.
"Darling, the interview was marvelous."
He returned to his desk.
"Thank you."
"You looked so sincere."
Ethan frowned.
"I was sincere."
"Of course you were."
She settled into a leather chair.
"People adore a successful man who's willing to reveal a little sadness."
Ethan studied her.
"That wasn't a publicity strategy, Mother."
"Everything is publicity when you're running a company worth twelve billion dollars."
He sighed.
"What do you need?"
Margaret placed a printed guest list on his desk.
"The gala."
"What about it?"
"There's someone attending who shouldn't be there."
He glanced at the names.
Investors.
Foundation donors.
Executives.
Award nominees.
Then he saw a name that made every muscle in his body tighten.
Claire Bennett — Bennett Financial Advisory.
He read it twice.
"Claire?"
Margaret watched him carefully.
"Yes."
He looked up.
"My Claire?"
"Your former wife," she corrected.
His heart was suddenly beating too fast.
"Why is she invited?"
"Her firm was nominated for a financial-transparency award."
Ethan hadn't known.
He'd heard of Bennett Financial Advisory.
It was a respected accounting consultancy that had exposed fraud in several major investment groups.
He'd even read one of its reports.
He simply hadn't connected the company to Claire.
"She built that?" he asked.
"Apparently."
A strange mixture of pride and shame rose inside him.
Of course she had.
Claire had always been smarter than anyone gave her credit for.
Margaret leaned forward.
"I think you should remove her from the guest list."
Ethan looked up sharply.
"Why?"
"Because the press will recognize her."
"So?"
"So they'll ask embarrassing questions about your divorce."
He leaned back.
"That was ten years ago."
"Scandals don't have expiration dates."
Ethan looked at Claire's name again.
"She's entitled to attend."
Margaret's expression hardened.
"After everything she did to you?"
He stared at his mother.
"What exactly did she do?"
Margaret blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You've been saying that for ten years. After everything she did. After how she betrayed me. After how she tried to ruin my future."
"Because it's true."
"Then tell me something I don't already know."
She folded her hands.
"Ethan, you were devastated when you learned about her affair."
He looked away.
The word still hurt.
Affair.
He had accepted that accusation without ever hearing a confession from Claire herself.
Margaret had told him Claire had been seeing someone else.
Vanessa had claimed to witness suspicious meetings.
And shortly afterward, Claire announced she was pregnant.
He remembered the look on her face when he'd questioned the baby's father.
Not guilt.
Not anger.
Something else.
Horror.
He pushed the thought away.
"Did you ever actually see evidence?"
Margaret frowned.
"Of what?"
"The affair."
She laughed.
"Are we really doing this?"
"Answer me."
His mother sat straighter.
"Vanessa saw her entering another man's apartment."
"What man?"
"I don't remember his name."
"Where?"
"Ethan—"
"Mother."
Her smile disappeared.
"Why are you suddenly interrogating me?"
He glanced down at the guest list.
"Because Claire's name is on a piece of paper, and you're acting as though someone has threatened your life."
Margaret rose.
"Fine. Invite her. But don't come crying to me when she makes a scene."
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
"And for heaven's sake, keep the child-support rumor out of the press."
Ethan went still.
"What child-support rumor?"
Margaret didn't turn around.
"Just gossip. Nothing worth discussing."
She left.
Ethan stared after her.
His pulse had begun to race again.
Child support?
He had never had a child.
At least, that was what he'd believed.
At nine, his chief operating officer entered.
Gabriel Price had been Ethan's closest friend since college.
Unlike most people in Ethan's circle, Gabriel wasn't impressed by his wealth.
He wore inexpensive watches, drove a seven-year-old truck, and told Ethan when he was acting like a fool.
He closed the office door.
"We need to talk."
Ethan gestured toward a chair.
"About what?"
"Your mother."
Ethan almost laughed.
"Join the club."
Gabriel remained standing.
"She's been asking our security department to flag a gala guest."
"Claire."
"Yes."
Ethan frowned.
"How do you know her name?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"Because I remember her."
Of course he did.
Gabriel had been there in the early days.
He'd eaten Claire's homemade sandwiches when the company couldn't afford catering.
She had helped him prepare for his first management interview.
And unlike Ethan, Gabriel had tried to call her after the divorce.
"Did you ever find her?" Ethan asked suddenly.
Gabriel's expression changed.
"I tried."
"What happened?"
"Your mother told me Claire wanted nothing to do with anyone from the company."
"Did Claire say that?"
"No."
Ethan looked down.
Gabriel pulled out his phone.
"There's something else."
He displayed an email from Margaret to the gala's private-security contractor.
The subject line read:
RESTRICTED ENTRY — BENNETT PARTY.
The message instructed staff to deny Claire Bennett access if she arrived accompanied by minors.
Ethan read it slowly.
Then read it again.
"Why would Claire bring children?"
Gabriel watched him.
"I was hoping you could tell me."
Ethan felt the room tilt.
A memory flashed through his mind.
Claire standing in their apartment.
Her hand pressed against her stomach.
Her voice trembling.
I'm pregnant.
He had laughed.
He had told her the child couldn't be his.
Now, ten years later, his mother was trying to keep children away from an event where Claire was invited.
Ethan looked at Gabriel.
"Find out if Claire has children."
Gabriel's face tightened.
"Ethan, are you sure you want me investigating her private life?"
"No. You're right."
He rubbed his forehead.
"I have no right to do that."
After a moment, he added, "But there's something I need to know."
"What?"
"Did my mother ever receive letters from Claire after the divorce?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"Yes."
Ethan stood.
"How many?"
"I don't know."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought you knew."
Ethan stared at him.
"I never received a single letter."
Across Chicago, Vanessa Cole stood in front of her dressing-room mirror.
At thirty-nine, she remained stunning.
Her blonde hair fell over the shoulders of a silk robe.
A diamond necklace sparkled against her skin.
For the past decade, she had lived in the luxury Ethan's fortune provided.
But she had never become Mrs. Ethan Sullivan.
Ethan had dated her for less than a year after the divorce.
Then he'd ended things.
He said he couldn't give her what she wanted.
She had spent the following nine years maintaining her position as a trusted company adviser.
She attended his galas.
Appeared beside him at charity events.
And waited patiently for him to realize they belonged together.
Now Claire was coming back.
And Vanessa wasn't going to lose twice.
Her phone rang.
Margaret.
"Have you handled the situation?" Margaret demanded.
Vanessa examined her reflection.
"The photographer got the pictures."
"And the children?"
"They're safe. For now."
Margaret sighed.
"Don't be dramatic."
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
"You promised me Claire would never come back."
"That was ten years ago."
"And you promised Ethan would marry me."
"Plans change."
Vanessa gripped the edge of the marble counter.
"Not this plan."
There was silence.
Then Margaret said, "Ethan is asking questions."
Vanessa went cold.
"What kind of questions?"
"About Claire's letters. About the divorce."
Vanessa closed her eyes.
"Then we have to stop the gala appearance."
"I tried."
"Try harder."
Margaret lowered her voice.
"What about the documents?"
Vanessa glanced toward her jewelry safe.
Inside, beneath velvet trays of diamonds, sat a small flash drive.
She had kept it for a decade.
A precaution.
An insurance policy.
On it were financial transfers, recorded conversations, and a copy of a document that could end Margaret Sullivan's comfortable life.
Vanessa smiled without warmth.
"Don't worry about the documents."
"Vanessa—"
"I'll handle Claire."
She ended the call.
Then she opened her safe.
For a moment, she stared at the flash drive.
She had helped destroy a marriage to secure a fortune.
And she wasn't about to let two children destroy everything she'd gained.
That afternoon, Ethan instructed his assistant to put Claire's award nomination on his desk.
He reviewed her firm's history.
It had begun in a one-bedroom apartment.
Its first three clients were small nonprofit organizations.
Within five years, Claire's firm had earned a national reputation for identifying financial misconduct.
Last year, it had helped recover thirty-eight million dollars for defrauded retirement investors.
Ethan found himself smiling.
"Of course you did," he whispered.
Then he noticed something on her professional biography.
A photograph from a community fundraising event.
Claire stood between two smiling children.
A boy.
A girl.
Both about ten.
Ethan enlarged the image.
His breath caught.
The boy's eyes.
The girl's smile.
He stared until his vision blurred.
Then he whispered a name he hadn't spoken aloud in ten years.
"Claire."
His phone vibrated.
A message from his mother.
Don't contact her. You don't know what she's capable of.
May you like
He looked at the photograph again.
For the first time, he wondered whether the person he'd needed protection from had never been Claire at all.
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