Chapter 3

The next morning, the doorbell rang. I was in the kitchen making Leo pancakes, shaping them into dinosaurs like I always did. I assumed it was a delivery. I opened the door, and my smile froze.

Standing on my porch was a young woman, probably not much older than twenty-two. She had wide, doe-like eyes, long blonde hair, and a look of terrified innocence. She clutched a designer handbag to her chest like a shield. It was the bag I had packed yesterday.

It was Skylar.

"Can I help you?" I asked, my voice polite, calm. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but my expression gave nothing away.

"I... Ethan sent me," she stammered, looking past me into the house, as if expecting him to materialize and save her. "He said... he said I should wait for him here."

Before I could respond, Ethan' s car pulled into the driveway. He jumped out, not even bothering to close the car door, and rushed to her side.

"Skylar! What are you doing here? I told you to wait at the hotel," he said, his voice a mixture of concern and irritation. He guided her inside, his arm possessively around her shoulders. He shot me a look. "Chloe, get her some water. And call off your meeting. I need you here."

His tone was sharp, a clear order. He then turned back to Skylar, his voice softening instantly. "It's okay, baby. You're safe here."

He glared at me again, over her head. "Don't you dare say anything to upset her," he warned, his eyes cold. "She's fragile."

I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. The corner of my mouth twitched into a bitter smile. Fragile. After a decade of being his bedrock, his unwavering support, I was now a threat to be managed.

Skylar looked like a frightened rabbit, her eyes darting from Ethan's face to mine. She was clearly terrified of me, the wife he was discarding for her.

"It's alright," I said to her, my voice gentle. I walked to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. "Ethan is just being dramatic."

I handed her the glass, and our fingers brushed. She flinched.

"You can sit down," I said, gesturing to the plush sofa in the living room. "Would you like some coffee? Or I have some clothes here that might fit you better than the hotel robe."

I gestured to a few shopping bags I had left by the stairs, filled with designer clothes I'd purchased for this exact scenario. Generosity was a form of power, and right now, I needed to feel powerful.

Skylar just stared at me, confused by my kindness. She was pretty, in a fresh, uncomplicated way. The kind of pretty that made a man like Ethan feel young and powerful again. I could see the appeal. For a man drowning in corporate complexity, she was simple. A blank page.

"Go on, Skylar," I urged gently. "Go upstairs with Ethan. Pick out whatever you like."

I was orchestrating my own replacement.

Ethan shot me a suspicious look but led her upstairs, his hand on the small of her back. I could hear his low, comforting murmurs floating down the staircase.

He brought her back down a few minutes later. She had changed into a soft, cream-colored cashmere sweater and jeans. She looked even younger, more vulnerable.

Ethan wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her against his chest. He looked at me with an expression of pure adoration for her, and pure dismissal for me.

"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" he said, a proud smile on his face.

"Yes, she does," I agreed. Then, I looked directly at Skylar. "He's all yours. The divorce will be finalized in thirty days. On November 11th."

Skylar's eyes widened. She looked from me to Ethan, her expression pleading for confirmation. "Is that true, Ethan? You're really getting a divorce?"

Apparently, that was a detail he had left out of his grand romantic pronouncements.

Ethan tightened his hold on her, nuzzling his face into her hair. "Yes, baby. I told you I would handle it. I'm going to make you my wife."

He kissed her neck, a possessive, public display meant to wound me.

And it did. But not in the way he thought. It didn't hurt because he was with her. It hurt because I remembered a time when he had looked at me that way, with that same all-consuming devotion. It was a long time ago, before the ambition had devoured the man I married, leaving this empty, self-absorbed shell in his place.

I had been the one he held like that. I had been the one he promised the world to. Now, I was just an obstacle to be removed.