I hated the fear in his face. I hated that my choices had put it there. But I also knew Richard would not reveal his full plan unless he believed I remained isolated.
Olivia proposed strict conditions.
Security nearby.
A recording device in my necklace.
A safe exit.
No signing anything.
My father objected to every point until I took his hand.
“I spent two years trying to prove you wrong about Ethan,” I said. “Let me prove the truth now.”
He looked down at our joined hands.
Finally, he nodded once.
The next morning, I returned to the apartment.
Ethan was sitting at the kitchen island with two cups of coffee as if he had been waiting all night.
When he saw me, relief crossed his face.
Then his gaze dropped to the small silver pendant at my throat.
“You’ve never worn that necklace before,” he said.
I covered the hidden microphone with my fingers.
“It belonged to my mother.”
Ethan smiled.
But as he kissed my cheek, his hand moved behind my neck and paused against the clasp.
For one terrifying second, I thought he knew exactly what it was.
### Part 8
Ethan let the necklace fall back against my skin.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
I forced myself to breathe.
The pendant felt hot against my chest, though the metal was cold.
“I’m sorry I left,” I told him.
The apology tasted bitter, but it was necessary.
He pulled me into his arms.
“I’m sorry, too.”
His embrace was familiar enough to hurt. His cologne, the warmth of his palm between my shoulder blades, the tiny rough patch on his chin where he always missed a spot shaving.
For half a second, I wanted to believe we had simply become lost and could still find our way back.
Then he whispered, “You’ll sign the papers tonight, won’t you?”
The hope died.
“I need more time.”
“My father won’t like that.”
“This is our marriage, not his.”
Ethan stepped away.
“Of course.”
But his mouth flattened.
The anniversary gala was held Saturday night at the St. James Hotel, a restored landmark with marble staircases and gold-leaf ceilings. A line of black cars curved around the block. Photographers waited beneath the awning, their camera flashes turning the rain silver.
Diane had selected my dress.
Deep green silk, fitted at the waist, modest enough to make me look obedient and expensive enough to suggest the Marlowes had rescued me from poverty.
When I entered the ballroom, conversations softened.
Six hundred guests filled tables beneath crystal chandeliers. White orchids stood in tall glass vases. A string orchestra played near the stage, and the air smelled of perfume, roasted meat, and melted candle wax.
Richard greeted me at the entrance.
“There she is,” he announced. “Our little Cinderella.”
His hand rested too firmly on my shoulder.
“You look nervous.”
“I don’t enjoy crowds.”
“You’ll become accustomed to being watched.”
The sentence carried more meaning than it should have.
Ethan spent the cocktail hour introducing me to people he had never mentioned before. Hale Capital partners. Northstar executives. Reporters from business publications.
Vanessa arrived in a white gown.
Not cream. Not ivory.
White.
She kissed Diane’s cheek, hugged Richard, and touched Ethan’s arm as if it belonged to her.
“You must be Claire,” she said.
“We’ve met.”
“Of course.”
Her smile sharpened.
“You’re difficult to remember.”
I looked at the diamond bracelet on her wrist.
It was identical to the one Ethan had given me.
She noticed where I was looking and raised her glass.
“Ethan has excellent taste.”
Before I could respond, an event assistant approached and handed me a black folder.
“Mr. Marlowe asked that you review this before the speeches.”
Inside were the same postnuptial papers.
A pen rested in the fold.
I closed it.
Vanessa’s smile vanished.
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t sign legal documents between appetizers.”
Richard appeared beside us.
“This is a family matter.”
“Then why is Vanessa standing here?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Because unlike you, she understands what this family needs.”
I heard Olivia’s voice through the tiny receiver hidden beneath my hair.
Keep him talking.
“What does the family need?” I asked.
Richard glanced toward the stage, where Ethan was speaking to the master of ceremonies.
“Growth. Influence. Loyalty.”
“And my signature?”
“That is the price of leaving with dignity.”
The orchestra finished its song. Applause rolled through the room.
Richard leaned closer, his breath carrying the smoky scent of Scotch.
“Sign now, Claire, and we will announce a respectful separation. Refuse, and Ethan will tell six hundred people exactly what you are.”
“What am I?”
His smile returned.
“A nobody who lied her way into this family.”
He walked toward the stage before I could answer.
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