Chapter 3

A bitter laugh escaped my lips in the sterile silence of the hotel room.

"A father to the boy," I muttered to myself, mocking Eleanor's words. "Make the best of it."

It was the most absurd, most insulting thing I had ever heard. They hadn't just betrayed me, they were trying to recruit me into their lie, to make me a willing participant in my own humiliation. The thought of it made me want to punch a wall.

The next morning, I tried to eat the bland continental breakfast downstairs, but every bite felt like sawdust. My phone buzzed. It was Chloe.

"Ethan, where are you? We need to talk about this. You can' t just run away."

I ignored the call. And the next one. And the text that followed.

"Don't be a child, Ethan. Your behavior is damaging for both of us. My mother is very worried."

Worried about her daughter's crumbling empire, maybe.

I tried to call my best friend, Leo, but my voice caught in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud yet. It felt too real, too shameful.

I went back to my room, the four walls closing in on me. I felt a wave of nausea and barely made it to the bathroom before I was sick, heaving until there was nothing left. I splashed cold water on my face, staring at the pale, hollowed-out man in the mirror. I didn't recognize him.

A few hours later, a notification popped up on my phone. My heart lurched, thinking it was Chloe again. It was worse. It was a tag on a social media post. From Eleanor.

She had posted a beautiful, sun-drenched photo of Chloe on a yacht, smiling serenely. But it was the caption that was the real attack.

"So proud of my strong, resilient daughter, Chloe, who always puts family first, no matter how difficult things get. Some people just don't understand the meaning of loyalty. Spending a beautiful day with the most important people in her life. #FamilyOverEverything #Blessed #TrueLove"

I clicked through the pictures. The next one was of Chloe holding Noah. The one after that was of Alex, Noah, and Chloe, posing together like the perfect family, Alex' s arm slung casually over Chloe' s shoulder. And the location tag? A private resort just a few hours away. They weren't hiding. They were celebrating. They were flaunting their new life on the ashes of our old one.

The comments were a sea of sycophants and clueless fans.

"So brave, Chloe! We love you!"

"What a beautiful family! Who is that little angel?"

"Ignore the haters! You deserve to be happy!"

Eleanor was strategically replying to some, fanning the flames. To a comment asking, "Wait, I thought she was married to Ethan Miller?" Eleanor had replied with a simple, devastating, "Some people can't handle a strong woman. Chloe deserves a man who can give her a real family."

The implication was clear. I was the one who was inadequate. I was the one who couldn't "give her a real family." They were using my manufactured infertility, the lie they created, as a weapon against me in the court of public opinion.

My blood ran cold. My head started to spin, the edges of my vision going blurry. I stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed, my chest tight. It felt like I couldn't get enough air. The public humiliation was a new layer of pain, a suffocating blanket on top of the private betrayal.

My mind flashed back to a year ago, at a charity gala. Eleanor had clung to my arm all night, introducing me to everyone as "my brilliant, generous son-in-law, Ethan." She had praised my success, my devotion to Chloe.

"He's the best thing that ever happened to our family," she had gushed to a reporter.

Chloe had stood beside me, smiling, squeezing my hand. "He's my rock," she'd said.

It was all a performance. A long con. They had seen me as a ticket to wealth and status, and now that the ticket was threatening to expire, they were cashing in their chips and trashing my name on the way out the door. The hypocrisy was nauseating.

The dizziness subsided, replaced by a cold, hard rage. They thought I was weak. They thought they could control the narrative, paint me as the villain, and walk away with everything.

They were wrong.

My fingers, no longer trembling, found my phone. I didn't call Leo. I didn't call Chloe.

I called my lawyer.

"I need to file for divorce," I said, my voice steady and clear. "And I want to be prepared for a fight."