Chapter 2

WREN.

Benjamin Davis's death arrived with brutal suddenness. With no time to untangle the chaos of the previous night, James and I boarded the flight home.

James said nothing during the entire journey.

Though my mind still churned over what had—or hadn't—happened the night before, I knew this wasn't the time. Benjamin was dead. He was James's brother, and as his wife, as a daughter-in-law of the Davis family, I had to prioritize what mattered.

We didn't arrive at the Davis estate until late evening. The entire household was steeped in grief, the atmosphere thick and suffocating.

Only then did the weight of Benjamin Davis's death truly hit me.

He had been the family's pride, its pillar. Though we'd rarely spoken, he'd been one of the few—besides Grandfather Arthur—who had never looked at me with disdain. With him at its center, the Davis family had always seemed unshakable.

Now he was gone. Forever.

When James took my hand and pushed open the main room doors, my heart clenched with sorrow and dread. Everyone knew what Benjamin meant to my mother-in-law, Abigail. Losing her cherished eldest son—I could already imagine her grief, and her fury.

The reception room was packed. Abigail stood at its center, surrounded by friends offering condolences. The sudden death of her firstborn had struck the proud woman hard. She'd managed to maintain her dignity—until she spotted her younger son. James strode toward her.

"I'm sorry we're late, Mother..."

Abigail let out a broken sob. In that moment, despite all my terrible history with this woman, my heart ached for a mother who had just lost her child.

After releasing Abigail, James moved toward Ava. There was an eagerness in his stride; he probably thought no one noticed.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he murmured.

Looking at Ava's swollen, tear-stained eyes, a wave of guilt washed over me. How could I have suspected this poor woman of having an affair with my husband? I was a terrible person.

But then—

The way they embraced. The way their bodies leaned into each other just a fraction too long, too close. Something intimate beneath the grief.

Revulsion surged through me again, unstoppable.

Had last night really been just a dream?

Fortunately, they remembered the crowd around them and finally pulled apart.

Out of duty, I approached Ava to offer my own condolences. That was when it hit me—the perfume she wore. It was the same scent that had clung to James's clothes on those nights he'd come home late.

The ones he'd dismissed as nothing more than accidental contact with some female client at a business meeting.

That strange unease coiled in my stomach again.

I forced it down. Telling myself this was Benjamin's funeral. Out of respect for him, whatever questions I have could wait.

Then I moved toward Liam, Ava's son, standing quietly beside her. I bent to offer the boy my condolences.

Without warning, he shoved me hard.

I stumbled, struggling to catch my balance. Ava rushed forward, feigning concern—and in her flurry of movement, her arm caught the gray vase held by Benjamin's personal assistant.

The vase shattered against the floor.

My heart stopped when I recognized it.

"That was Benjamin's favorite vase, you useless woman!"

My gaze flickered toward my mother-in-law.

Abigail, her eyes burning with an unforgiving fury, rushed towards us and hurled the hot tea she'd been holding directly toward Ava and me.

The sudden chaos froze me in place.

In a flash, a figure moved. James. For one naive instant, I almost believed he was coming to save me. I was his wife, after all.

But the next moment, his protective arms wrapped around Ava as she crumpled delicately against his chest, sobbing.

And me?

I stood there drenched. Ruined. Wet strands of hair plastered themselves to my face, the heat of the tea still radiating against my skin. But that discomfort was nothing compared to the fire igniting in my chest.

I clenched my fists, glaring at James.

He had chosen his sister-in-law over me—his own wife—in front of everyone. Whatever I had or hadn't seen last night, this moment confirmed it. Something was wrong between them. Something far beyond grief.

As if suddenly remembering I existed, James released Ava and approached me. "Wren, are you all right?"

I pulled my hand back coldly, a bitter laugh escaping me. "Oh, so you do remember I exist?"

His brow furrowed. "I just... Ava was closer..."

"James!" Abigail's screech cut through. "Why are you defending these worthless women? One has been dead weight on your brother since the day she married him! The other dares to destroy his favorite vase at his own funeral! I will not tolerate this!"

"Mother." James turned, exhaling heavily. "Ava isn't dead weight. She gave Benjamin a son—his legacy. And Wren, she didn't mean to—"

"I didn't break it! It was Ava who—"

"Enough, Wren." James's eyes flashed with irritation. "You've already caused enough embarrassment. Do you really want to keep making a scene at my brother's funeral? Go to your room. Stop making this harder than it already is."

I stared at my husband's face—so familiar, yet suddenly so foreign. How could he? After blatantly choosing Ava over me, he was now blaming me for her mistake?

Did Ava mean that much to him?

My eyes burned. The words that had been forming since last night finally spilled out.

"James Davis. I want a divorce."