Chapter 3 3

Lily dragged the canvas duffel bag across the checkerboard marble of the foyer. The wheels rumbled, a dissonant sound in the cathedral-like space. She passed the oil portraits of Sterling ancestors-stern men with cruel eyes who seemed to watch her departure with disapproval.

Alfred, the head butler, stepped out from the shadows near the library. His eyebrows shot up, creating deep furrows in his forehead.

"Mrs. Sterling? Are you... traveling?"

Lily tightened her grip on the handle. "I'm going to the Hampton house for a few days, Alfred. I need some sea air." The lie tasted like ash, but her voice was steady. Cold.

"Shall I inform the driver? Or Mr. Sterling?"

"No." Lily stopped at the heavy oak console table by the door. She looked at her left hand. The ten-carat diamond solitaire weighed down her finger. It was flawless, cold, and heavy. A shackle made of compressed carbon.

She gripped the ring and twisted. It resisted for a moment, sticking to her skin, before sliding off. She placed it on the silver tray usually reserved for mail. The metal-on-metal clink echoed through the hall.

"I've called an Uber," she said.

Alfred stared at the ring, then at her. He didn't move to open the door. "Very well, Madam."

Lily pushed open the heavy front door herself. The winter air bit at her exposed skin, raw and unforgiving. She didn't look back. She walked down the long, heated driveway to the wrought-iron gates where a silver Toyota Camry was waiting.

"Lily?" the driver asked, a heavyset man with a thick mustache.

"Yes." She threw her bag in the back and climbed in.

"Where to?"

"Manhattan. Tribeca."

As the car pulled away, leaving the sprawling estate behind, Lily felt a phantom vibration in her pocket. She ignored it.

Thirty miles away, in a glass-walled office overlooking Central Park, Ethan Sterling picked up his phone. Alfred's voice was low and hesitant.

"She left, sir. She took a duffel bag. And... she left the ring."

Ethan stared at the Manhattan skyline. He felt a flicker of annoyance, like a gnat buzzing near his ear. "She left the ring?"

"Yes, sir. On the hall table."

"Dramatic," Ethan scoffed. He signaled Spencer to enter the office. "She's throwing a tantrum, Alfred. She'll be at the Hampton house by noon. Let her stew."

"She said she called a... an Uber, sir."

Ethan laughed. A dry, humorless sound. "An Uber? God, she really is desperate for attention." He looked at Spencer. "Freeze her supplementary cards. All of them. Lock the trust account authorization. If she tries to access that million, deny it."

Spencer hesitated. "Sir?"

"She wants to play independent? Let's see how independent she is when she can't buy a latte. She'll be back before the gala tonight, crying and apologizing." Ethan hung up and tossed the phone onto his desk. "She needs to learn that oxygen is expensive outside of my atmosphere."

Back in the Camry, Lily's phone lit up.

Notification: Transaction Declined. Uber Pending.

Notification: Card Frozen. ending in 8890.

Notification: Card Frozen. ending in 4421.

Notification: Trust Access Revoked.

She stared at the screen. A bitter smile curled her lips. "Predictable," she muttered. She opened her wallet. She had four hundred dollars in cash-emergency money she'd stashed away. It would cover the ride.

The sky opened up as they crossed the bridge into Manhattan. A freezing rain mixed with sleet, turning the city into a gray smear.

The Uber driver pulled over on a busy corner in Tribeca. "Can't get closer, lady. Construction."

"It's fine." Lily handed him the cash.

She stepped out onto the curb. The wind whipped her hair across her face. She popped the handle of her bag and began to walk. The rain soaked through her coat instantly. She was just another face in the crowd, pushed and shoved by pedestrians. No one cared that she was Mrs. Ethan Sterling.

She waited at a crosswalk, shivering. A puddle of slushy, gray water had formed in the dip of the road.

A sleek, black Rolls Royce Phantom rounded the corner, taking the turn too fast. The tires hit the puddle.

A sheet of freezing, dirty water sprayed up, coating Lily from waist to neck. She gasped, the shock of the cold stealing her breath. She wiped the grime from her eyes, looking at the retreating car.

Through the tinted back window, she saw a profile. Blonde hair, laughing. Serena.

And there, flashing in the window before the car disappeared, was a glimpse of fabric. Midnight blue silk. The custom Dior gown.

Ethan hadn't sent it back. He had simply re-gifted it.

Lily stood there, dripping wet, smelling of exhaust and city grit. She watched the taillights disappear into the traffic.

She dragged her bag the final two blocks to a brownstone building. She buzzed the intercom.

"Who is it?" A voice crackled.

"Chloe. It's me."

The buzzer sounded. Lily pushed the door open and collapsed into the lobby. When the elevator opened on the fourth floor, Chloe was standing there, holding a glass of wine. Her eyes widened when she saw the drowned rat standing in her hallway.

"Holy shit, Lil."

Lily dropped the handle of her bag. Her hands were blue. "I left him," she said, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. "I really left him."

Chloe didn't ask questions. She dropped the wine glass-it shattered on the floor, red liquid staining the rug like blood-and wrapped her arms around Lily.

That night, while Lily lay shivering in Chloe's guest bed, the television in the living room played the evening news.

Ethan Sterling arrives at the Met Gala, the reporter said breathlessly. And look at that-he's accompanied by Sterling VP Serena Vance. A power duo for the ages. Ms. Vance is stunning in a midnight blue Dior gown.

On the screen, Ethan looked impeccable in a tuxedo. He was smiling. He didn't look like a man whose wife was missing. He looked like a man who had finally trimmed the fat.