Chapter 2

Eleanor, my mentor, had been like a grandmother to me.

She was the one who saw something in the quiet girl from the foster system, the one who guided me towards archiving, towards a life of order and books.

She was also the Davenport family matriarch's best friend.

That connection, that' s how I entered Ethan' s orbit.

Eleanor believed I would be a grounding influence, a kind partner.

The Davenports were old money, philanthropic, a New England institution.

I was an outsider, but Eleanor vouched for me.

She saw stability in me, something Ethan, in his charming immaturity, desperately needed.

Ethan' s past was dominated by Chloe Vanderbilt.

She was his first love, the dazzling, ambitious girl who had captivated him in college.

He' d been infatuated, and when she left for Paris, choosing career over him, it broke something in him.

He never fully moved on.

I knew this, even as I walked down the aisle towards him.

I' d seen the lingering sadness in his eyes, the way her name would sometimes slip into conversations.

My affection for him was quiet, unacknowledged, a small, persistent hope that I kept carefully hidden.

His grandmother' s dying wish was the catalyst.

"Ethan, my boy," she' d whispered, her voice frail, "I want to see you settled. Happy."

Eleanor, ever practical, ever kind to me, suggested the match.

Ethan, still smarting, perhaps seeing a way to prove Chloe wrong, or maybe just too weary to fight, agreed.

He set the terms clearly, coldly.

The prenuptial agreement, the divorce clause pre-signed by him.

It was a business arrangement dressed up as a marriage.

No pretense of romance, just companionship, and an eventual, amicable split.

I accepted.

What else was there for me?

I craved stability, a home, something I' d never truly had.

And a part of me, the foolish, hopeful part, believed I could change him.

That my quiet steadfastness, my genuine care, could somehow reach through his defenses, heal his old wounds, and make him see me.

It was a long shot, a whisper of a dream, but it was enough to make me say "I do."

For a while, especially after news came that Chloe had married someone in Europe, a kind of peace settled between us.

It was a false dawn, I see that now.

Ethan became... considerate. Warm, even.

He started noticing me, asking about my day at the university archive.

We' d have dinner together, not in strained silence, but with actual conversation.

He' d sometimes touch my arm, a casual gesture, but it would send a jolt through me.

He seemed to be genuinely trying, committing to this partnership we' d forged.

I allowed myself to believe my efforts were working, that he was finally letting Chloe go, letting me in.

Those months were a period of fragile happiness.

I' d come home to our brownstone, and he' d be there, maybe reading in the study, or even attempting to cook.

We fell into a rhythm, a comfortable domesticity.

I started to feel like a wife, not just a signatory on an agreement.

The house felt like a home.

I allowed myself to dream of a future, a real future, with him.

The pregnancy, now a confirmed reality, felt like the culmination of that fragile hope, a sign that maybe, just maybe, we were on the path to something real.

But Chloe' s return had shattered that illusion, piece by piece.