Chapter 3

Evelyn

I stared at my reflection, hands pressed against the cool marble of the bathroom counter. My face looked the same. Tired, yes, but the same woman who'd woken up yesterday believing her biggest problem was a distant husband.

Now I carried his baby while he knocked up my friend. What a fucking mess.

I grabbed my phone and texted Vivian.

Me: Coffee? Need to talk.

Her response came within seconds.

Vivian: The usual place. 11?

Me: See you there.

The drive into Manhattan gave me time to think. Or try to. My mind kept circling back to those three positive tests buried in my purse, to Liam's casual announcement about Chloe's pregnancy, to the way he'd looked at me like I was a problem to be managed rather than a person to be loved.

I parked in the garage near our old firm and walked the three blocks to Moretti's Café, the little Italian place where Vivian and I used to spend hours strategizing over cappuccinos and pastries. The bell chimed as I entered, and I found her at our old corner table, scrolling through her phone with a sharp, focused look.

Vivian Howard looked stunning, her glowing skin accentuated by a silk blouse beneath her navy blazer.

She looked up, smiled, then her expression shifted as she took in my face.

"Jesus Christ, Evie. You look like death."

I sank into the chair across from her. "Thanks. Always good for my ego."

"What happened?" She flagged down the waitress, ordered us both cappuccinos without asking. "And don't say nothing. I know that face."

The waitress brought our drinks. I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, searching for words that didn't make me sound pathetic.

"Liam's having an affair."

Vivian's jaw tightened. "That motherfucker."

"With Chloe Croft."

"The blonde bimbo from your book club?" She leaned forward. "That backstabbing bitch."

"She's pregnant." I took a sip of cappuccino, burned my tongue, and didn't care. "He wants an open marriage. Says he'll split time between her place and ours, that we can make it work for Isabella's sake."

"Un-fucking-believable." Vivian sat back, fingers drumming on the table. "What did you say?"

"I told him to fuck off. That I'd file for divorce." My voice cracked. "He said he'd take Isabella from me. That he has better lawyers, more money, that I'd be lucky to get supervised visitation."

"He's bluffing."

"Is he?" I met her eyes. "You know what kind of power the Vance family has. What they can afford."

"I also know you're a brilliant fucking lawyer who could tear his case apart." She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. "Or you used to be. Before you gave it all up for Prince Charming."

The accusation stung because it was true. I'd walked away from everything I'd built, everything I was good at, to play house with a man who'd discarded me the second something shinier came along.

"I wasn't always this pathetic," I said.

"You're not pathetic." Vivian squeezed my hand harder. "You're in a shit situation with a narcissistic asshole who's trying to gaslight you into accepting his fucked up arrangement. There's a difference."

"He made it sound so reasonable. Like half of Manhattan does this."

"Half of Manhattan is full of cowards who'd rather maintain appearances than admit their marriages are dead." She released my hand and sat back. "Divorce him, Evie. Take him for everything he's worth. I know custody lawyers who'd eat the Vance legal team for breakfast."

I wanted to believe her. Wanted to channel that version of myself who'd walked into courtrooms with my head high, who'd torn apart witness testimonies and found loopholes in ironclad contracts. That woman wouldn't have let Liam push her around.

But that woman didn't have a daughter who'd be destroyed by a custody battle.

"It's not that simple."

"It never is." Vivian flagged the waitress for refills. "But staying in a marriage where your husband's fucking someone else and demanding you smile about it? That's not protecting Isabella. That's teaching her women should accept being treated like shit."

The words hit harder than I expected because she was right. What kind of example was I setting? That love meant accepting scraps? That marriage meant swallowing your pride and dignity because leaving was too scary?

"Remember the Berkowitz case?" Vivian asked suddenly.

"Of course." How could I forget? It had been our first major win together, back when we were junior associates hungry to prove ourselves.

"Everyone said we'd lose. That going up against Berkowitz's team was career suicide." She leaned forward, eyes bright. "But you found that one email buried in thousands of pages of discovery. The smoking gun nobody else caught. And you used it to tear their whole defense apart."

I remembered the rush of it. Standing in that courtroom, watching the opposing counsel's face as I laid out the evidence piece by piece. The way the judge had ruled in our favor, how Vivian and I had gotten drunk on champagne at some dive bar afterwards, laughing about how we'd just made partner track in one afternoon.

"That was a long time ago," I said.

"Bullshit. That was five years ago. Not ancient." She pointed at me. "That woman is still in there. She's just been buried under cashmere sweaters and charity luncheons."

"Vivian."

"I'm serious. You were fucking brilliant, Evie. The best legal mind I'd ever worked with. And then you met Liam Vance at that stupid fundraiser and everything changed."

I took a long sip of my cappuccino, remembering that night. The way Liam had crossed the room to introduce himself, all charm and expensive cologne. How he'd made me feel like the only person in a room full of Manhattan's elite. I'd been flattered. Swept up in the fairy tale of it.

"You warned me about him," I said quietly.

"I did. Multiple times." Vivian's expression softened. "I told you he was too polished, too controlled. That men like him saw women as accessories, not partners."

The memory surfaced clear and sharp. We'd been in my apartment, Chinese takeout containers scattered across my coffee table. Vivian had been reviewing depositions while I'd shown her the engagement ring Liam had presented the night before.

"He's not like that," I'd insisted, defensive. "You don't know him the way I do."

"I know men like him. Old money, entitled, used to getting what they want." She'd set down her chopsticks. "What happens when you're not what he wants anymore?"

I'd laughed it off. Told her she was being paranoid, that Liam loved me for who I was, that our relationship was different. Special.

What a fucking joke.

"You were right," I admitted now. "About all of it."

"I hate being right about this." Vivian reached across the table again. "But it's not too late. You can still walk away. Start over."

"With what? I haven't practiced law in five years. My resume has a giant gap where my career should be."

"So what? Firms would kill to have you back. Your track record speaks for itself." She pulled out her phone and started scrolling. "I know partners at three different firms who'd hire you tomorrow. Just say the word."

The idea terrified and thrilled me in equal measure. Going back to work meant reclaiming part of myself I'd lost. It also meant admitting my marriage was over, that the life I'd built was a lie.

And there was the other problem. The one growing inside me that I hadn't told anyone about yet.

"I need to think about it," I said.

"What's there to think about? He's fucking your friend. He knocked her up. He's demanding you accept his mistress like it's a business arrangement." Vivian's voice rose slightly, drawing looks from nearby tables. She lowered it. "Sorry. But come on, Evie. What more do you need?"

"Isabella. A plan. Some kind of security before I blow up my entire life."

"You're not blowing it up. It's already blown." She leaned back and studied me. "Move into my guest house."

"What?"

"My guest house. It's empty and fully furnished." She waved off my protest before I could make it. "You need space from him. Distance to think clearly without Liam manipulating you every five seconds. Bring Isabella, stay as long as you need. You don't have to decide right now. But the offer stands. Whenever you're ready."

I nodded, throat tight. "Thank you."

"That's what friends are for. Real friends. Not backstabbing bitches who fuck your husband." She signaled for the check. "Speaking of which, what are you going to do about Chloe?"

"I don't know yet. Part of me wants to key her car. The other part wants to show up at her apartment and punch her in the face."

"Both solid options." Vivian grinned. "Or we could go old school. Blast her affair all over social media. Let everyone in your circle know what kind of person she is."

"Tempting. But that makes me look petty."

"Who gives a fuck? She's carrying your husband's baby. You're allowed to be petty."

I laughed despite everything. Leave it to Vivian to make me feel slightly less insane about this whole mess.

We finished our coffee and walked out together. She hugged me tight on the sidewalk, her perfume familiar and comforting.

"Call me," she said. "Day or night. And seriously consider the guest house. You need to get away from him."

"I'll think about it. I promise."

"Don't think too long. Men like Liam only get worse when they think they have control." She pulled back, held me at arm's length. "You're stronger than you believe, Evie. Remember that."

I watched her walk toward the subway, her blazer sharp against the gray Manhattan sky. Then I headed back to my car, mind spinning.

The drive home took forever. Traffic crawled through Midtown, giving me too much time to replay everything. Liam's face when he'd told me about Chloe. The way he'd touched me last night was cold and mechanical. His threat about taking Isabella.

My hand drifted to my stomach, still flat beneath my sweater. In a few months, I'd be showing. Then what? Tell Liam and watch him use it as another leash? Another way to keep me trapped in his perfect arrangement?

Or keep it secret as long as possible? Buy myself time to figure out my next move?