Chapter4

Two weeks later, Chloe Bennett's name went up on the Hart Gallery in Chelsea.

I was the one who said yes.

Not because of his threat about my father. Not because I'd gone soft. If you want someone to fall hard, you hand them the ladder first.

That night, I called Paris. Catherine listened to the whole thing, went quiet for a few seconds, and then said, "Chérie, how's the weather in New York next week?"

Three days before the opening, Ethan showed up at my place with Chloe, acting like all was forgiven.

"Thanks, Bella. I knew you'd come around. After this show, everyone's going to forget that video."

I leaned back in the armchair in my study and said nothing. Come around? No. I'd finally seen things clearly.

Chloe walked over carrying a box tied with satin ribbon, her smile sweet enough to rot teeth. "Bella, I'm really sorry about everything. I stayed up all night making you this dress. Can we start over?"

I lifted the lid. The second my fingertips touched the fabric, I pulled them back.

"Polyester." I looked up at her. "Last week, Ethan's assistant sent you my measurements. The very first line says I'm severely allergic to synthetic fabrics. So—did you miss it? Or did you see it and pick this on purpose?"

Her smile glitched for a second.

"That's enough!" Ethan's face darkened. "She pulled three all-nighters making you something, and this is how you act? Bella, your paranoia is starting to scare me."

Paranoia? No. I'd just stopped being blind.

I'd worn the good-girl mask so long, they really thought I was the Isabella they could push around.

I pulled the dress out of the box, gripped it with both hands, and tore it from the neckline to the waist. Sequins clattered across the floor. I tossed the wad of fabric in the trash.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

Chloe shrieked. "Are you insane?!"

The next second, Ethan's hand came up.

Smack.

My head snapped to the side. A high, piercing ring filled my left ear.

"Are you done yet?! Who do you think you are? The Harts aren't who they used to be! Your mom's gone, your dad's lying in a hospital bed—what do you even have left besides your last name? What gives you the right to trash someone else's work like that?!"

I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and tasted copper. For a few seconds, my mind went completely blank.

He hit me. The man who'd once sworn he'd never let anyone hurt me had just hit me.

"You hit me?" I held my cheek and stared at him. "Ethan Cole, you actually hit me?!"

My voice was shaking. "You'd better think long and hard about who's bullying who here. Oh, and there's a camera in this study. My lawyer is going to find that very interesting."

His chest was heaving. He wasn't hearing a word.

"The wedding's postponed." He jabbed a finger at me. "When you learn some respect and apologize to Chloe, then we'll talk."

He put his arm around Chloe and turned to go. "Come on. There's no talking to her."

The door shut behind them. I finally lost it and slid down the bookshelf to the floor. My cheek was on fire, but my chest hurt worse.

It was full dark when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. One video. No preview.

I hit play.

It was hallway security footage from a hotel. Ethan, his arm around Chloe, walking into a room. Seven the next morning, the two of them walking out one after the other—her wearing his shirt.

The date in the bottom corner was one week before our engagement party.

Below the video was a single line:

You deserve to know the truth. —D

I watched it to the end, then hurled my phone onto the rug.

"Screw you, Ethan," I said to the empty room, every word slow and deliberate. "Screw you both. You can go to hell together."

In the days before the opening, Ethan poured nearly every cent his company had into that show. Billboards in Times Square, posters in subway stations, paid influencer posts—Chloe's face was everywhere, under one line: The Genius Redefining New York Fashion.

Her Instagram hit half a million followers. Every post showed off the flowers Ethan sent her.

On opening day, there was a red carpet out front, and reporters and influencers packed the sidewalk. Chloe wore a couture gown and posed on Ethan's arm, smiling into the flashbulbs like a queen.

Nobody noticed the old warehouse across the street—the one that had been wrapped in scaffolding for two weeks—quietly taking down its last barrier.

I stood at the warehouse doors and watched the workers hang a massive banner across the front of the building. I couldn't help smiling.

CATHERINE LAURENT: RETROSPECTIVE & REBIRTH — WORLD TOUR, NEW YORK PREMIERE