Chapter 2

Eliza Todd POV:

They kept me in the hospital overnight for observation. Jace, my neighbor, stayed until they had me settled in a room, handling the paperwork with a quiet efficiency that I was too dazed to manage myself.

"You should call him, Eliza," he said, handing me a cup of water. His voice was soft, devoid of the judgment I expected.

I shook my head, the movement feeling heavy and slow. "I'm going to divorce him, Jace."

The words hung in the sterile air between us, shocking even me with their finality.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn't press. He just nodded. "Okay."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling a sudden, absurd need to apologize for laying my messy life at his feet. "You didn't need to hear that."

"Don't be," he said, a small, kind smile touching his lips. "Get some rest. I'll check on you in the morning."

After he left, I stared at the ceiling, replaying the doctor's words. You'll need his support. A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. The last time I was in the hospital for a minor surgery, Dante had complained about the cost of parking. He' d left after twenty minutes to take a call.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was him. A picture of a delicate diamond necklace appeared on my screen.

Dante: For you. Happy Anniversary, my love. Forgive me?

For a split second, a flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe he realized his mistake.

Then, I did what I always did. My fingers flew to the Instagram app, my thumb hovering over Kamala Wong' s profile. Her latest story, posted just five minutes ago, was a picture of a receipt from Tiffany & Co. The necklace in Dante' s photo was circled in red pen.

Kamala' s caption: When the campaign hits its fundraising goal, everyone gets a little treat! Thanks, boss! #BestTeam #DanteForMayor

He hadn't bought it for me. He had bought gifts for his entire senior staff, and he was trying to pass one off as a heartfelt anniversary present. The audacity of it stole my breath.

Me: Keep it. Or give it to Kamala. I' m sure she' d appreciate a second one.

His call came through instantly. I let it ring twice before answering, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Eliza?" he snapped, his voice tight with anger.

"It means I know you bought that for your whole team, Dante. Don't insult my intelligence."

"You're being ridiculous," he scoffed. "You're so jealous you can't even accept a gift gracefully. You have a credit card with no limit, a beautiful home, you don't have to work. What more could you possibly want?"

His words felt like tiny, sharp pebbles hitting my skin. He saw my life as a series of transactions, a checklist of luxuries he provided. He had no memory of the tiny, rundown apartment we started in, of the two jobs I worked while he finished law school, of the inheritance my parents left me that I poured into his first city council campaign.

Jace reappeared in the doorway, holding a bag of takeout. The smell of chicken soup filled the room.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said softly.

"Who is that?" Dante's voice turned venomous. "Is there a man in your room, Eliza?"

"I'm in the hospital, Dante."

"Oh, here we go," he sneered. "What is it this time? A headache? A stomachache? You'll do anything for attention, won't you?"

The cruelty of his words sucked the air from my lungs. I squeezed my eyes shut, placing a protective hand over my stomach. No stress, the doctor had said. I couldn't let him do this. Not now.

"I'm hanging up," I said, my voice shaking.

"Eliza, don't you dare-"

I ended the call, my thumb pressing down on the red icon with a sense of finality.

A barrage of texts immediately followed.

Dante: You're sleeping with him, aren't you?

Dante: After everything I've given you. You ungrateful bitch.

Dante: PICK UP THE PHONE.

I turned the phone over and pushed it away, my appetite gone. But I looked at the soup Jace had brought, and I looked at my hand on my stomach, and I picked up the spoon.

The doctor discharged me the next morning, her parting words a stern reminder to take it easy. Jace was there, keys in hand, insisting on driving me home.

"You don't have to," I said, my voice thick with unshed tears.

"I want to," he replied simply.

As we walked to the parking garage, my mind flashed back to a memory from last winter. I had slipped on a patch of ice and twisted my ankle. I' d called Dante, who was only ten minutes away at a community meeting, to ask for a ride to urgent care. He' d told me to take an Uber; he couldn't risk being photographed leaving the event early.

Jace opened the passenger door of his sleek Audi for me, and I sank into the plush leather seat, a fresh wave of grief washing over me. A near-stranger was showing me more care and consideration than my own husband had in years.

Just as he was about to close the door, a familiar car screeched to a halt behind us.

Dante.

He stormed out of his car, his face a mask of fury. For a wild, foolish moment, I thought he had come because he was worried. I thought maybe he' d checked my location, realized I was at the hospital, and rushed over.

"The house is a mess, Eliza," he barked, ignoring Jace completely. "There are dishes in the sink and your clothes are all over the bedroom floor. I have a fundraiser tonight. How am I supposed to bring people back for drinks when the place looks like a pigsty?"

He stood there, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his handsome face contorted with petty annoyance. He was scolding me for not doing housework while I was in the hospital, fighting to keep our baby alive.

The last fragile thread of hope inside me snapped.

"And you," he continued, his voice dripping with condescension, "you haven't been able to give me a child in five years. The least you could do is keep my house in order."

I just stared at him, the pain so profound it felt like silence. Everything inside me went quiet and still.

He didn't know. He didn't know how close he' d come to having everything he ever wanted. And he had just proven, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he didn't deserve it.

"What are you even doing here?" he demanded, his eyes flicking over my hospital wristband with dismissive impatience. "Faking another illness for sympathy?"

Jace took a protective step forward. "She was-"

I put a hand on his arm, stopping him. This was my battle.

"Get in the car, Eliza," Dante commanded, grabbing my arm. "We're going home. You're going to clean up."

I didn't resist. I let him pull me out of Jace's car and shove me into his own. The fight had gone out of me, replaced by a chilling, terrifying calm.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice flat, as he sped out of the parking garage.

"Kamala is being honored tonight at the Arts Gala," he said, not looking at me. "You're coming with me."

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