Chapter 1

Nine years.

Nine years I'd been Mrs. Ethan Vanderbilt.

Nine years of a life that looked perfect from the outside, a gilded cage built by his family's old money and influence.

Inside, it was nine years of his cheating, his gaslighting, his way of making me feel small, worthless.

I was Sarah Miller, once a pianist with a Juilliard scholarship, now just... Ethan's wife.

Today, Ethan slid a stack of papers across the polished mahogany table.

Divorce papers.

Again.

This was maybe the fifth time?

Sixth?

I'd lost count.

He always reeled me back in, always made me feel like I couldn't survive without him.

"Sign them, Sarah," he said, his voice smooth, bored.

Brittany Hayes, his latest mistress, sat beside him, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

She was younger, all sharp ambition and a smug smile.

Pregnant.

His child.

She smirked at me.

"And these are the terms," Ethan continued, pushing another sheet towards me.

"You'll move into the guesthouse. Discreetly. You'll still manage the household staff for major events, of course. And Brittany thinks it's a good idea for you to take some advanced childcare courses. For when the baby comes."

My breath caught.

Provide services?

Childcare courses for his mistress's baby?

The audacity.

The sheer, unadulterated cruelty.

Brittany giggled, a high, unpleasant sound.

"It'll be good for you, Sarah. Keep you busy."

I looked from Ethan's cold eyes to Brittany's triumphant ones.

My parents were gone.

Their bakery, the one thing they'd built with love and flour-dusted hands, was a minor asset Ethan now controlled, probably used as a tax write-off.

It was all I had left of them, of my old life.

A tiny spark, one I thought had died long ago, flickered inside me.

This time felt different.

Maybe because of James.

Unseen by Ethan, I'd reconnected with his older brother, James Vanderbilt.

He'd been overseas for years, managing family interests.

James, who had been kind to me before I ever made the mistake of falling for Ethan's charm.

James, who knew the real Ethan.

He was coming back.

He'd promised.

Brittany's voice, sharp and demanding, cut through my thoughts.

"Oh, and that ring you always wear. The old-fashioned one. Ethan says it's a family heirloom, but it's not Vanderbilt, is it? I'd like it."

My mother's ring.

The only piece of her I wore every day.

My hand instinctively covered it.

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly firm.

Ethan sighed, a theatrical display of impatience.

"Sarah, don't be difficult. It's just a ring. Give it to Brittany."

"It was my mother's," I repeated, my gaze fixed on him.

Brittany pouted.

"But Ethan, you said..."

Ethan's eyes narrowed.

He stood up, walked around the table.

His presence always filled a room, suffocatingly.

He loomed over me.

"Give. Me. The. Ring."

Each word was a drop of ice.

When I didn't move, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist.

His fingers dug into my skin, strong and unyielding.

He pried my fingers open, one by one.

The pain was sharp, but the violation was worse.

He slipped the ring from my finger.

He tossed it to Brittany, who caught it with a delighted squeal, immediately sliding it onto her own finger, admiring it.

It looked out of place on her, garish.

"There," Ethan said, stepping back.

"Was that so hard?"

He looked down at me, a flicker of something – satisfaction? – in his eyes.

"Start packing. You have until the end of the week."

I cradled my throbbing hand, the imprint of his fingers already turning red.

The loss of the ring felt like a physical blow, a severing.

But the spark inside me burned a little brighter.

He didn't know about James.

He didn't know this wasn't the end.

It was the beginning of his.