Chapter 6

A week into our silence, Quentin appeared on the front page of a gossip site with Nora on his arm.

The headline read: [QUENTIN HALE AND HIS ASSISTANT TURN HEADS AT QORVAY CHARITY AUCTION.]

Nora wore a silver designer gown and a diamond necklace I recognized from Opal's favorite jeweler. Quentin wore the tuxedo I'd ordered for him in Milan.

In one photo, Nora leaned close to whisper something in his ear while he looked down at her.

In another, they stood in front of the event's sponsor wall, her hand resting on his arm.

The article mentioned me in its sixth paragraph, calling me Quentin's "frequently absent wife."

It also noted that I'd skipped the charity auction to oversee yet another Voss Group launch.

I read the article once.

Then I called Fiona Veyra, Voss Group's general counsel, and asked her to bring in our family lawyer.

"Are we trying to contain the press coverage?" she asked.

"No. We're ending my marriage."

She didn't miss a beat.

"I'll be upstairs in twenty minutes."

There were practical matters to settle: properties we owned separately, a charity foundation we'd funded together, and several business agreements made during our engagement.

I had no intention of fighting over furniture or using legal paperwork to punish Quentin.

I wanted a clean separation that protected Voss Group and left no room for him to pretend he misunderstood my decision.

Fiona asked whether I wanted to take control of the foundation.

Quentin and I had established it after a flood destroyed three neighborhoods where both our companies had employees.

He managed donor relations, while I oversaw the grants.

"Divide our funding commitments equally through the end of the year," I said. "After that, let the independent board run it without either of us controlling it."

"You could make a strong case for keeping the chair."

"I don't want a divorce trophy."

She made a note and moved on.

That was the extent of our legal plan: separate what belonged to us, protect what benefited others, and leave no hidden claims behind.

By noon, we had the first draft of the settlement.

Opal called while Fiona was reviewing a clause about the foundation.

"Zora, what's going on? I've just seen the photographs."

"Then you know as much as I do."

"Quentin has lost his mind. I'll deal with him."

"That won't be necessary."

"Of course it will. He took that girl to a public event full of photographers. He's embarrassed you and both families."

"Yes."

"I'll make him apologize tonight."

"I'm sending him a divorce agreement this afternoon."

The line went silent.

Then Opal said, "Don't be ridiculous."

It was the first time she'd ever spoken to me like that.

"I gave him three chances," I said. "He used every one. The charity auction is the consequence, not another opportunity."

"You can't end a strategic marriage over one ugly article."

"I'm ending it because my husband used another woman to punish me. The article only made his choice public."

Opal lowered her voice.

"Men in our world make mistakes. Quentin's father made far worse ones, and I didn't destroy a family over them."

"That was your decision."

"It was my responsibility."

"Those aren't the same thing."

I heard her draw a sharp breath.

"Think about the market. Think about the joint ventures. Think about what the press will do to Voss Group. Your father can't possibly want this."

"My father retired because he trusted me to decide what Voss Group could survive."

"Zora—"

"You built your power through your position as Mrs. Hale. I built mine before I married Quentin. I respect the choices you've made, Opal, but I won't make the same ones."

"You think I was weak?"

"No. I think you became powerful inside a bargain that demanded too much from you. You survived it so well that you've started to believe surviving something is the same as agreeing to it."

For a moment, I wasn't speaking to a businesswoman or a family matriarch.

I was speaking to a woman who had spent decades making a cage look like a throne.

Then her voice hardened.

"Marriage requires endurance."

"So does leaving one."

"You're being selfish."

"I'm making a final decision."

I hung up.

Fiona had politely kept her eyes on the paperwork throughout the conversation. Now she looked up.

"Would you like me to send someone to deliver the agreement?"

"No."

"Zora, you don't have to go there yourself to prove a point."

"I'm not trying to prove anything. He wanted a response. I'll give him one he can't misunderstand."

I signed the cover letter, closed the folder, and stood.

By the time I reached the lobby, the charity auction photographs had spread across three business news sites and nearly every major gossip account in the city.

I got into the car with the agreement on my lap.

"Cole Group," I told the driver.