Chapter 5
Chloe's POV
Vincent came to find me the following afternoon. He looked more worn than I remembered — the skin beneath his eyes had darkened to a bruised, hollow shadow. The public pressure wasn't letting up, and the Sterling family's stock had begun to slide. Word was that the old matriarch had torn into him at the estate, and the fury in her voice had apparently carried through several closed doors.
He stood at the entrance to my apartment, his tone carrying an unfamiliar softness. "Chloe, I need a favor."
"Go ahead."
"Issue a statement." He held my gaze. "Just say our wedding is still on schedule, that Selina is a mutual friend, and that the rumors about a new affair are completely fabricated."
I looked at him, and for the first time, I felt as though I was seeing him clearly — the careful architecture of his self-interest laid bare beneath the surface charm.
He actually believed I would step forward and cover for him. That I would lend my name to clean up the mess he'd made with another woman. All because I had once loved him.
"You want me to say," I began slowly, "that you're innocent. That Selina is simply a friend's widow you've been looking after. That our relationship is intact and the wedding proceeds as planned." I paused. "So the Sterling stock stabilizes. So your grandmother settles down. So everyone outside shuts up."
He didn't answer.
"But I'm not your fiancée anymore, Vincent." I said it plainly, without heat. "I don't want to marry you."
"Chloe, can you not do this right now —"
"I'll cooperate," I said, cutting him off.
He went still.
"But I have conditions."
Something in his posture eased almost imperceptibly. "What conditions?"
"First — five million."
Six years of being his shield. It was a fair price.
"Money has never been a problem," he said, and he agreed quickly, the way people agree when they're afraid the offer will be withdrawn.
"Second." I met his eyes. "You sign the dissolution agreement."
His expression darkened. "Chloe, do you really have to —"
"You don't have to," I said. "Then I'll announce it unilaterally."
Vincent was quiet for a long time. Then, finally, he gave in.
The night the five million cleared, I posted the statement: Selina is a mutual friend of both Vincent and myself. Please refrain from overinterpreting the situation. The public noise died down quickly after that.
I sat with my phone in my lap, looking at the bank balance on the screen, and then at the supplementary card listed below it. My eyes stung a little. That card was from the year Selina hurt her ankle during rehearsal, and Vincent had gone to keep her company every day, afraid she'd be lonely. He'd tossed the card at me on his way out the door and said, be good, don't make a fuss.
Now I could finally throw it away.
My phone buzzed. An unknown number. Heard you cut Vincent's card? Chloe, don't do anything rash — throw a little fit and go back. Vincent likes his women obedient.
I stared at the screen for two seconds. Selina. She'd found my new number. I didn't reply. I thought about it for a moment, then blocked her.
For six years I had lived like a ghost in my own life, careful to swallow my anger somewhere no one could see it. Starting today, I was done performing.
That evening, I dragged an old case out from the back of the closet. Inside, a thick stack of manuscript pages lay bundled together, the corners worn soft from handling. I turned through them one by one, my fingertips tracing the lines, and it felt as though the girl who had drawn them — stubborn, certain, six years younger — was watching me from the other side of the paper.
At the very bottom, my hands stopped.
A small velvet box. I opened it. Inside lay a rough-cut gemstone, its color exceptional — in the lamplight it seemed to hold a depth of water within it. It warmed in my palm almost immediately. This stone. Lucas had traveled through several mining districts looking for it. He'd said it was the only thing worthy of Moonlight.
I spread the design draft across the table beneath the lamp. It had been my best work, back then. When I drew the final line, I could already picture the finished piece — cool, luminous, like moonlight settling into the hollow of a hand. Then there was no then. Vincent had told me that the future Mrs. Sterling had no business being a designer with her name in public. I had put Moonlight away, along with the name K, and locked them both at the bottom of that case. Six years.
I held the stone and ran my thumb slowly over its surface. Lucas's face surfaced in my mind, and I pushed it back down just as quickly. I picked up a pen and wrote in the corner of the draft — the name I hadn't written in years.
K.
I was going to finish it.
The phone rang while I was working through my third revision of the draft. It was the Sterling estate's head housekeeper.
"Miss Chloe, the Madam would like you to come to the estate when you have time. You haven't come to pay your respects in quite a while, and you missed the last family dinner. The Madam's mood, as you might imagine, is not particularly good."
I held the phone and said nothing.
"The Madam said," the housekeeper continued carefully, "that some things are better said in person."
"Alright," I said. "I'll come tomorrow."
What had to come would come regardless.
The next morning, I had barely made it downstairs when I saw a black car idling outside the building entrance. Two men stood beside it, posture deferential, eyes unyielding. "Miss Chloe. The Madam sent us."
I looked at them briefly, said nothing, and got in.
The Sterling estate was quieter than I expected. In the main sitting room, the old matriarch Aurelia Sterling was seated at the head position, her silver hair set without a strand out of place. When I walked in, she didn't look up — she lifted her teacup and blew across the surface at her own unhurried pace.
"Sit."
I sat. She offered no greeting. I offered none either. The silence was thorough enough that the faint sound of porcelain against the saucer seemed loud.
After a long moment, she set the cup down. "Chloe. Do you know where you went wrong?"
I didn't answer.
She raised her eyes and studied me the way one might examine a piece of porcelain that had come out slightly off. "The future Mrs. Sterling — making a public spectacle of herself because Vincent was seen with another woman." A short, cold laugh. "Do you know what people are saying about our family? That we can't even keep our own fiancée in line." Her voice cut clean and flat. "You have humiliated the Sterling name."
I looked at her steadily. For the first time, the estate felt less like a house and more like a cold place where warmth was never meant to survive.
"Madam," I said. "Vincent is the one who was unfaithful."
Her expression hardened. She brought the teacup down against the table with a sharp sound. "Who do you think you are? Vincent chose you — you should be grateful. Whatever he does outside these walls makes no difference to your position. You're an orphan, Chloe. You should think very carefully about what you have left if you walk away from Vincent."
"Madam." I held her gaze and kept my voice even. "The position of Mrs. Sterling is not something I ever wanted. I don't want Vincent."
Her face went rigid.
"You —"
"Grandmother." A voice from the doorway. Vincent walked in with long strides, his expression closed and tight. He glanced at me, then at the old woman. "I'll handle this."
She made a dismissive sound, gripped the armrest, and rose. At the door she paused, and her parting words came over her shoulder without turning back. "Fine. Let's see what kind of trouble an orphan girl manages to cause on her own."
The room was quiet after she left.
Vincent stood before me, looking down. "Chloe. What is this actually about?"
"I've been clear," I said, meeting his eyes. "I want out."
"Because of some photographs? Because I didn't pick up your calls?" His brow drew together, and there was a compressed, restrained anger underneath the surface. "Selina already explained — the child didn't know what she was doing —"
"Vincent." I stopped him. "You cleared every staff member from the house for Selina. You left me when I was injured, for Selina. You kept your distance from me for six years and delayed our wedding again and again, for Selina. And now you want to tell me it's about some photographs?"
The coldness settled into his face by degrees.
"Chloe. Don't be unreasonable."
"Unreasonable?" I almost laughed. "Fine. Call it unreasonable. The engagement is still over."
He studied me for a long time in silence. "Is this because Lucas is back? Because you think you have someone in your corner now, and that's why you can talk to me this way?" My chest tightened. He took one step closer, his voice dropping. "Those online posts came from somewhere. Your return to the industry had people clearing the way behind the scenes. You think I haven't noticed?"
"Is Lucas the one helping you? Tell me the truth."
I thought, without meaning to, of being a child — of Lucas's hand on top of my head, his voice easy and certain: I'll always have your back.
"Lucas is Lucas," I said. "What's between you and me has nothing to do with him. Vincent — I don't love you anymore."
His expression went very still, very cold.
"Alright," he said, stepping back. "Alright then. I'll make you come back and ask me."
By the time I returned to the apartment it was well into the night. I sat by the window and watched the slow river of headlights below, and felt, suddenly, an exhaustion that reached into the bones. The words I'd said during the day had felt good — clean, even — but what came after the cleanness was a hollow, untethered quiet.
I thought of Lucas. Of I'll always have your back, of the stone he'd carried back from all those mining districts, of the particular shape of his shoulders when he had stepped in front of me, years ago, without hesitation. And then I thought of how completely he had vanished. All those years, not once.
I reached across the table and touched the velvet box, fingertips drifting over the surface. "It would've been nice if you were here," I said softly, to no one.
In the dark, my phone screen lit up. An unknown number. Excuse me — is K making a comeback?
I stared at the message, frowning. I hadn't told anyone about returning to design work. Before I could respond, another message appeared beneath the first.
That piece from six years ago — Moonlight. Is it for sale?
