Chapter 2

Grant returned to the coffee shop the next afternoon with Sienna on his arm. His black coat rested over her shoulders.

Years ago, I had once asked him to wear matching outfits with me. He had said it was not his style. Sienna had apparently needed to mention it only once; now his casual suit was perfectly coordinated with hers.

Before either of them could speak, my phone rang on the counter.

The screen read MY BABY.

I answered the video call, and Oliver’s round little face appeared.

“Mommy!”

He hugged his toy car and waved at me.

“Daddy said he’ll be home tomorrow. Can we pick him up together?”

Before I could answer, Grant’s face lit with triumph.

“I knew it.” He stared at Oliver and laughed. “You really did give me a son.”

I ended the call immediately, but Grant had already accepted his own conclusion as fact.

He looked around the shop and frowned.

“I gave you plenty of money in the divorce. Why are you still waiting tables?”

Grant had given me half our marital assets. To him, the money should have kept me comfortable for three years—and preserved exactly where he had left me, waiting for his return.

I handed a customer the latte I had just made.

“This is my shop. I work here because I like it.”

He did not get angry. He still thought my coldness was theater staged for him.

Sienna offered me a brittle smile.

“Evelyn, it’s been three years. How have you been?”

“Good.”

My calm answer seemed to disappoint her.

Grant’s phone rang. He checked the screen, then stepped onto the sidewalk to take the call.

The moment the door closed behind him, Sienna’s smile vanished.

“Stop playing hard to get. Even if Grant remarries you, you still haven’t won.”

I kept wiping the counter.

She mistook my silence for pain.

“Mrs. Ashford has never accepted you. In her eyes, I’ve always been the right woman for her son. Grant only came back because he feels responsible for you. He thinks you spent three years waiting and raising his child, so he believes he owes you an explanation.”

She glanced toward the window.

“And before he came to see you, he asked my permission.”

Sienna took a document from her handbag and placed it on the counter.

“I drafted a new prenuptial agreement for him.”

I skimmed the pages.

If Grant and I remarried, I would have no right to interfere in his relationship with Sienna. I would hold no authority in the Ashford Group and could not appear publicly as his wife. If the marriage ended again, I would receive nothing. Even his gifts could be reclaimed by the Ashford family.

“If you sign,” Sienna said, “Mrs. Ashford won’t stand in the way of the remarriage. You still won’t be allowed to call yourself Mrs. Ashford in public, of course. Your background could damage Grant’s reputation.”

I pushed the agreement back.

“If Mrs. Ashford likes you so much, you should marry him.”

I meant it. Sienna heard mockery.

“You think he hasn’t married me because he doesn’t love me? The only reason he came back is that he feels responsible for you.”

When I gave her no reaction, humiliation flashed across her face. She raised her hand to slap me.

Footsteps approached outside.

Her hand stopped. A second later, she lowered it and filled her eyes with tears.

“Evelyn, I truly want you and Grant to get back together,” she said in a wounded voice. “I was only trying to prevent future problems. If the agreement upset you, I’ll take it back. Please don’t be angry.”

Grant walked in and found her tearful in front of me.

“What happened?”

Sienna shook her head. “It was my fault. Please don’t blame Evelyn.”

The more she defended me, the colder Grant’s expression became.

“Evelyn, apologize.”

He spoke as though disciplining a child.

“Sienna is trying to help us. We grew up together. She’s like a little sister to me. Why do you insist on treating her like an enemy?”

It was the same excuse he had used throughout our marriage.

When Sienna took my anniversary necklace, Grant said she only liked it and the jewelry was not worth a fight. When she called him away from our anniversary dinner, he said she was drunk and needed help. When Mrs. Ashford barred me from Christmas dinner, he told me to respect his mother and stop putting him in the middle.

Sienna crossed the line. I apologized for objecting.

Not anymore.

“I won’t apologize.”

Grant stared at me.

Before he could begin another lecture, I pointed toward the door.

“If neither of you plans to order, leave.”

His expression darkened.

“I can tolerate your anger, Evelyn, but you can’t keep acting like a spoiled child.”

Then his voice settled back into that familiar, entitled tone.

“Saturday is my mother’s birthday. You’ve always been good at baking. Make her favorite cake and bring our son.”

“Oliver is not your son, and I’m not attending her birthday dinner.”

“A DNA test will settle that.”

“If you touch my son, you’ll regret it.”

He smiled as if I had made an empty threat.

“Enough. I know you resent me for leaving you to raise our child alone. Once you and Oliver return to the Ashford family, I’ll make it up to both of you.”

His arrogance stunned me. He had disappeared for three years. Now he thought an offer of compensation entitled him to my son and the life I had built without him.

“My mother may have been hard on you before,” he continued, “but you’ve given the Ashford family an heir. Humble yourself and show her some respect. She won’t make trouble for you anymore.”

I stared at him, and bitter amusement replaced my anger.

He had always known how his mother treated me. He had seen it all.

He simply had not cared.