Chapter 4

Despite everything, a final pang of responsibility tugged at me. I couldn't just leave Leo on the floor.

While Chloe was hysterically calling for an ambulance, I made a quiet call to my family's concierge service.

"Get Dr. Albright, the head of cardiology at Mount Sinai, to the emergency room at Lenox Hill. Now."

By the time the paramedics arrived, my arrangements were already in place. Chloe shot me a look of confused gratitude as they wheeled Leo out. I just nodded, my face a blank mask.

I didn't go with them. I had my assistant, a ruthlessly efficient man named David, handle it. He met them at the hospital, ensuring Leo was immediately seen by the best.

Mr. Sterling and I left the gala. We went to a quiet bar, a place where deals were made and dynasties were discussed over single malt scotch.

"Sophia is a good woman, Ethan," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "She's sharp, she's loyal. She understands our world. She's been waiting for you."

"I know," I said. "I was a fool."

"No," he corrected. "You were young. You needed to get this out of your system. Your mother knew. She made a deal with you, didn't she? Thirty years old."

I nodded. I had turned thirty last month.

"A man needs to know what he doesn't want before he can appreciate what he has," Mr. Sterling said, raising his glass. "To new beginnings."

We clinked glasses. The scotch burned, but it was a clean fire, washing away the last seven years of bitter residue.

The next morning, David walked into my new office at Vanderbilt Tower, the one that had been waiting for me, overlooking Central Park. He placed a file on my polished mahogany desk.

"Dr. Albright's report on Mr. Leo Vance," he said, his tone neutral.

I opened it. The medical jargon was dense, but the conclusion was clear.

Leo didn't have a rare, degenerative heart condition.

He had a minor, completely manageable arrhythmia. A condition many people live with without any significant impact on their lives. The fainting spells, the shortness of breath, the dramatic collapses-all of it was an act. He had been faking the severity for three years.

He was a fraud. A manipulative, pathetic fraud.

And Chloe had sacrificed everything for him. She had thrown away a seven-year relationship with a Vanderbilt for a lie.

I closed the file. I felt no anger. No pity. Just a profound sense of clarity.

I made a copy of the report. This was the final piece of the puzzle. The final nail in the coffin of my old life.