Chapter 3

Restless and hurt, I drove to the one place that used to be mine: "The Alchemist," the chic downtown bar where I had made my name as a mixologist before I met Jackson. I needed the familiar noise, the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversations that had nothing to do with me.

I slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, the polished wood cool beneath my hands.

"Well, well. Look who it is."

I looked up. It was Karly Barber. She was behind the bar, wiping down the counter, wearing a cheap, too-tight uniform.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, confused.

She gave me a tired smile. "Making rent. Graphic design gigs are slow, and Leo' s medical bills... they' re a lot."

Her presence here felt like an invasion. This was my sanctuary.

"I' ll have a club soda with lime," I said, pushing down the irritation.

She nodded, her movements slow as she fixed my drink. "I know who you are, you know. Or who you were. Eleanor Bernard. The best mixologist in the city. Jackson told me about you."

Her words were casual, but they felt calculated. I didn't want to know what else Jackson had told her. I just wanted to be alone.

"It was a long time ago," I said, taking a sip of my drink.

She leaned against the counter, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He was so lonely that night in Vegas. He told me he was tired of the shallow women who only wanted his money. He wanted something real."

I stiffened. I didn' t want to hear this.

"He was so gentle," she continued, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I was having a hard time. My dad was sick. He just listened. He made me feel safe."

Every word was a deliberate twist of the knife. I knew what she was doing. She was painting a picture of a deep, emotional connection, not just a drunken mistake. She was trying to make me feel like the other woman.

And it was working.

The anger and jealousy I' d been suppressing rose in my throat. But I couldn' t lash out. Because she was the mother of his child. She had a claim on him that I would never have. In a twisted way, she came first.

The pain was a solid, immovable thing in my chest.

I turned away, staring at the flashing lights on the dance floor, trying to breathe.

And then I saw him.

Jackson.

He was standing in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room. My heart leaped. He came for me.

But his eyes didn' t land on me. They found Karly.

He walked straight to her, his face etched with concern. He didn' t even see me, sitting just a few feet away.

"Karly, what are you doing here?" he said, his voice soft, full of a tenderness he hadn' t shown me in days. "You should be resting. Leo needs you."

My heart sank. He wasn' t here for me. He was here for her.

He used to be able to spot me in any crowd. His eyes would always find mine, a private little connection in a room full of people. Now, I was invisible.

Karly' s eyes flickered toward me, a triumphant little glint in their depths. It was only then that Jackson followed her gaze and saw me.

He looked startled, then his brow furrowed in disapproval.

"Eleanor? What are you doing in a place like this? You should be at home."

The bitter irony was so thick I could taste it. He was a billionaire who owned half the city, but my world had shrunk to the four walls of our house. His world, however, had expanded to include a whole other family.

I forced a tight, brittle smile. "I was feeling nostalgic."

I pushed down the hurt and stood up, moving behind the bar. The familiar tools felt solid in my hands. "Let me make you a drink. For old times' sake."

It was our ritual. My way of loving him.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting to Karly. "I can' t. I have to drive Karly back to the hospital."

The excuse was flimsy. He had a driver on call 24/7.

My hands stilled over the shaker. I remembered all the times he' d told me my drinks were the only ones he' d ever want. That he was my biggest fan.

"You' re really not going to let me make you a drink?" I asked, my voice small.

"Ellie, now is not the time," he said, his voice tight with impatience. "Leo is sick. You need to rest."

It was always about Leo. Always about my health. As if I were a fragile doll to be put away on a shelf while he dealt with his real life.

My enthusiasm vanished. I put the shaker down with a quiet clink.

Jackson seemed to sense my disappointment. He stepped closer, putting his hands on my shoulders. "I' m sorry, Ellie. I promise, once Leo is better, we' ll go on a trip. Just the two of us. And I' ll deal with Karly. She won' t be in our lives. I promise."

His promises felt like empty words, meant only to placate me.

I didn' t answer.

Across the bar, Karly had changed out of her uniform. She walked over, her eyes landing on Jackson' s hands on my shoulders. A flicker of hatred crossed her face before she hid it behind a mask of concern.

She knew Jackson loved me. But that didn't matter. She had his son. She had the ultimate leverage, and she resented me for having the one thing she couldn't get: his heart.

"Jackson, we should go," she said, her voice urgent. "The hospital called again. Leo is asking for you."

Jackson sighed, his hands dropping from my shoulders. He looked torn, but only for a second.

"You' re right." He turned to me, his voice softening again. "Go home, Ellie. I' ll call you later."

He turned and walked away with her, leaving me standing there, a relic from a life that no longer existed.

I watched them go, my vision blurring with tears. I understood. He was tired. He was stressed. I tried to make excuses for him.

I picked up the shaker and made his favorite drink, a complex, smoky Old Fashioned. I set it on the bar, the amber liquid glowing under the lights.

Then I walked out.

He had promised he would never let a drink I made for him sit untouched.

Tonight, it would.