Chapter 4
Chloe's POV
Late at night, I sat staring at those few messages on my screen, then dialed the familiar number.
The line rang three times before a bright little voice came through: "Uncle, Bel likes you so much — will you be Belle's daddy?"
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Then came Selina's soft laugh: "Bel, stop that, give the phone back to Uncle Vincent." A brief pause, as though she'd only just registered that the call had connected, and she let out a small, flustered "oh" — "It's Chloe's number… Vincent, hurry up and answer, don't let Chloe get the wrong idea."
Silence on the other end.
Then Vincent's voice came through, unreadable: "Chloe?"
I hung up.
I wanted to cry, but there was nothing inside me — not even enough to produce tears. I looked at Vincent's name in my contacts and, without letting myself hesitate, blocked it.
Vincent. Whatever this was between us — it ends here.
By morning, I was sitting in the chair of a salon in the city center. The stylist gripped her scissors, staring in the mirror at my straight hair that fell past my waist, and asked me a third time: "You're sure you want to cut it?"
"Cut it."
Six years ago, I had worn my hair in big, bold waves. Vincent's grandmother said that a Sterling wife should be dignified and understated, so I had obediently straightened it — and kept it straight for six years.
The scissors worked through strand after strand, and the straight hair fell to the floor around the chair. I watched the dull woman in the mirror slowly become someone I recognized again, and found that even breathing felt a little easier.
"Curls suit you," the stylist said, studying her work with satisfaction. "Lively. Full of spirit."
"Yes." I smiled at my own reflection. "This is who I actually am."
When my best friend Josie came to pick me up, her eyes went wide the moment she saw me.
"Chloe?!"
"What, don't recognize me?"
"God," she said, circling me slowly, "do you have any idea how good you look right now? If I were a man, I'd propose on the spot."
"Oh, stop it."
She grabbed my wrist without ceremony and pulled me into a high-end boutique, gesturing at an entire rack of clothes. "You pick, I'll pay. Today we are doing a full transformation."
I scanned the rack, and my gaze settled on a bold red dress.
Six years ago, when we were getting ready to announce our engagement, I had also reached for a red dress — and Vincent had stopped me. He said lighter colors were better. More demure, he'd said.
So I had been demure for six years.
Now I took the red dress off the rack and walked into the fitting room.
When I came back out, Josie was quiet for two full seconds — and then she shrieked and flung herself at me.
"Oh my god, Chloe! That dress was made for you!"
I stood looking at the figure in the mirror, and my heart gave one strange, quick beat.
A long time ago, someone else had told me I looked good in red. It was Lucas, the night he took me to my very first formal dance. He'd said I looked like a little princess in my curls and red dress, and he'd laughed and ruffled my hair: "When little Chloe grows up, she'll be a queen."
After I got engaged to Vincent, he had simply disappeared.
Vincent had mentioned recently that Lucas was back in the country — but Lucas hadn't reached out.
I smoothed my hand over the skirt and pushed the thought back down. He had probably forgotten about me a long time ago.
That evening, Josie took me to a private club to celebrate. She ordered a bottle of champagne and raised her glass. "To freedom."
"To freedom."
After a few rounds, her phone buzzed. The moment Josie looked down, the smile froze on her face, and she instinctively moved the screen below the edge of the table.
"Let me see."
"It's nothing," she said, with a forced laugh. "Work stuff."
I reached for it. She didn't pull away in time.
On the screen was an entertainment headline, accompanied by a high-resolution photo. Vincent had appeared at a top private school's family day. He stood among the crowd in a fitted suit, Selina's arm linked through his, with Bella lifted high on his shoulders. All three of them were smiling like a real family.
The caption read: Mr. Sterling's mysterious fiancée revealed — a warm family portrait.
"Chloe…" Josie watched me carefully. "Don't let it get to you. That woman is such a—"
"It's a nice photo," I said.
Josie blinked. "Sorry?"
"Look at how happy Belle is." I handed the phone back to her. "I've already turned the page, Josie."
"…Really?"
"Really."
She studied me for a long moment, making sure I wasn't just putting on a brave face, and then slammed her palm on the table, stood up, and shouted toward the window with her glass raised: "Fuck you, Vincent! May you and your little widow enjoy each other for the rest of your miserable lives!"
The tables nearby all turned to look.
I laughed so hard my eyes watered.
But after the laughter passed, there was a moment — just one — when something bitter settled in my chest.
Six years. He had never once taken me anywhere in public. What had he always said? He didn't like making his private life public. Too much hassle, he'd said. But now he was attending Selina's daughter's school events, accompanying her to charity galas, appearing beside her at every kind of public occasion.
It was never about disliking public appearances. He had just disliked being seen with me.
I lifted my glass and swallowed the bitterness along with the wine.
The photos spread quickly through the socialite circles. Because Vincent had kept me out of the public eye during our entire relationship — partly at his family's insistence, given what they thought of my background — many people assumed the woman in the photos was me.
The group chat began to light up with messages: congratulations, speculation about an upcoming engagement party, comments about how devoted Vincent looked, questions about how someone like me had ever managed to hold his attention. They discussed it enthusiastically, seemingly unbothered that I was right there in the chat. Then someone tagged me directly.
I had almost managed to put the whole thing behind me — until they kept dragging me back.
I thought about those six years. It was never that I didn't want to be seen. It was that he wouldn't allow it. "As my wife, you should stay low-key — the elders in the Sterling family don't approve of a daughter-in-law who draws attention to herself." He had always framed it as concern for me. And every single time, I had believed him.
None of that applied to Selina, apparently.
I looked at the latest message in the chat, then typed back:
You have the wrong person. The woman in the photo is Selina, not me.
I had no reason left to help him keep up appearances.
The chat went silent for a few seconds. Then it erupted. Screenshots were forwarded to other groups. Private messages started flooding in. People began digging into who Selina was. Some turned on Vincent, some on Selina, and a few turned on me — saying I'd been cheated on and was still covering for him.
I read through the messages and felt, unexpectedly, like laughing. Before all of this, I hadn't even been visible enough to be talked about. Now I could sit back and watch the whole thing unfold.
My phone rang. Josie.
"Chloe! You are not going to believe this." Her voice was barely containing itself.
"Tell me."
"Vincent tried to have the story buried, right? Well, apparently he managed to offend someone with serious money — because that someone turned around and hired a wave of accounts to push the story even higher. It's everywhere now. He can't touch it."
I went still.
"And get this," she said, dropping her voice. "Word from that side is that the Sterling family had it coming, and someone decided they weren't going to let it slide. Can you believe it? An actual billionaire playing vigilante."
I sat holding the phone, my fingertips going cold.
Serious money. Someone who felt it wasn't right. Taking up for the person being wronged.
The first name that surfaced in my mind was Lucas.
And then I pushed it straight back down.
Lucas had been gone for years. Not a single phone call. He was back in the country now, and he still hadn't reached out.
Why would he be the one to do this?
Don't flatter yourself, Chloe. Lucas stopped looking out for you a long time ago.
