Chapter 4

Evelyn

The egg timer dinged. I pulled the lasagna from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. Isabella wouldn't be home from school for another two hours. Liam was supposedly at the office.

Keys rattled in the front door. I glanced at the clock. Two in the afternoon. Why was he home?

Footsteps echoed through the foyer, but not alone. Two sets. One heavier, unmistakably Liam's. The other lighter, clicking heels on marble.

They appeared in the kitchen doorway. Liam, in his usual tailored suit, and beside him, Chloe fucking Croft.

She'd dressed for the office. Pencil skirt that hugged her hips, white blouse with one too many buttons undone. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves, makeup flawless. She smiled when she saw me, all teeth and false warmth.

"Evelyn! It's been too long."

I turned back to the lasagna, grabbed a knife to portion it. "Mmm."

"We're going to be working in my office," Liam said, like this was normal. Like bringing his pregnant mistress into our home was perfectly acceptable behavior.

I didn't respond. Just focused on cutting clean lines through pasta and cheese, letting the silence stretch.

"Evelyn." His voice carried a warning edge.

"Have fun." I kept my eyes on my work.

I heard them climb the stairs, heard the door to Liam's office close.

My hands shook on the knife. Were they fucking in there right now? Probably. Liam might be bending her over his desk, pushing that tight skirt up as she moaned about how much bigger he was than her last boyfriend. Or perhaps she was already on her knees, thanking him for the chance to please him in his own home while I cooked downstairs.

I set down the knife before I stabbed something.

An hour passed. Then another. No sounds from upstairs. Maybe they actually were working. Or maybe they'd fucked and were now cuddling in his leather chair, planning their future together.

Finally, footsteps on the stairs. I was in the living room pretending to read a magazine when they appeared.

"Evelyn." Liam's tone demanded attention.

I looked up.

"When Chloe comes here, I expect you to greet her properly. She'll be working with me from home occasionally."

"No."

His jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

I stood and dropped the magazine on the coffee table. "I said no. Don't bring her into my house."

"Our house," he corrected. "And this is business."

"Bullshit." I crossed my arms. "You have a perfectly good office downtown. Use it."

Chloe shifted beside him, hand drifting to her still flat stomach in a gesture that made me want to slap her. "I think maybe I should go."

"Stay." Liam's hand found her lower back. "Evelyn's just being unreasonable."

"I'm being unreasonable? You brought your mistress into our home. Where our daughter lives."

"Chloe is my secretary. She's helping with the merger documents."

"Then email them to her. Use the fucking cloud. But don't parade her through here like she belongs."

His expression hardened. "We'll discuss this later."

"There's nothing to discuss."

He guided Chloe toward the door. I watched them leave, her hips swaying in that ridiculous skirt, his hand still pressed against her back like he owned her.

The door closed. I waited until his car pulled out of the driveway before I went upstairs to his office.

It smelled like her perfume. Something floral and cloying that made my throat close. I opened the windows, turned on the ceiling fan, and did everything I could to clear the scent.

Papers were scattered across his desk. Merger documents, like he'd said. But also a lipstick print on his coffee mug that wasn't my shade. A hairpin by the lamp that definitely wasn't mine.

I swept everything into the trash, including the mug.

The next morning, Liam cornered me in the kitchen after Isabella left for school.

"You need to be friendlier with Chloe."

I poured my coffee, didn't look at him. "No."

"She's going to be part of our lives. You can make this easy or difficult."

"I choose difficult."

"Evelyn." He moved closer and trapped me against the counter. "This attitude isn't helping anyone."

"Then divorce me." I met his eyes. "If you're so unhappy, if Chloe's so perfect, just end it. Let me go."

"No."

"Why not? You've already moved on. Why keep me around?"

His hand came up, cupped my jaw with a gentleness that felt like mockery. "Because I still love you."

I laughed. "You have a funny way of showing it."

"I do love you. That hasn't changed." His thumb brushed my cheek. "But I also need things you're not giving me. Chloe provides that. It doesn't have to be one or the other."

"It does for me."

"Then adjust your expectations." He released me, stepped back. "Because I'm not divorcing you, and Chloe's not going anywhere. Accept it or be miserable. Your choice."

He left before I could respond.

I stood at the counter, coffee growing cold in my hands, wondering how my life had become this twisted mess.

The charity gala took up the entire ballroom at The Plaza. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over Manhattan's elite, all designer gowns and expensive suits. Liam had insisted I attend. Insisted I smile and play the devoted wife while he worked the room.

I'd chosen a black dress, simple and elegant, hair swept up to show my neck. Understated compared to the peacocking happening around me.

Liam worked the crowd with practiced ease, shaking hands and laughing at jokes that probably weren't funny. I followed two steps behind, nodding at appropriate moments, my face locked in a polite smile that hurt my cheeks.

Then I saw her.

Chloe stood near the bar in a red dress that left little to the imagination. The neckline plunged to her navel, the skirt slit high enough to show the curve of her hip. Diamonds glittered at her throat and ears.

Liam's money. Had to be. That dress, those jewels, probably the Louboutins on her feet. All gifts from my husband.

She caught my eye and smiled, raised her champagne glass in a mock toast.

I looked away before I did something I'd regret.

"Evelyn Vance." Margaret Ashford appeared at my elbow, her surgery tight face pulled into something approximating concern. "How are you holding up, dear?"

"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Her eyes flicked to where Chloe held court with a group of older men, laughing at something one of them said. "No reason. You look lovely tonight."

The pity in her voice made my skin crawl. She knew. They all knew. Liam had paraded his mistress at enough events that the gossip must have spread like wildfire through Manhattan's social circles.

Poor Evelyn. Can't keep her husband satisfied. What did she expect, giving up her career like that?

I excused myself and headed for the balcony, needing air that didn't smell like expensive perfume and judgment.

The night was cool. I leaned against the railing, stared at Central Park stretching dark and vast below.

"Beautiful view."

I turned. A man stood a few feet away, drink in hand, watching me with eyes that were too perceptive. Alexander Davenport. CEO of Davenport Group, Liam's biggest competitor. I'd seen him at parties over the years. He was tall, with striking features that would undoubtedly grace the pages of Forbes. Handsome in that dangerous way that made smart women stupid.

"Mr. Davenport."

"You're out here alone. Without your husband." He sipped his scotch. "Unusual for these events."

"Liam's networking. I needed air."

"Understandable. These things get suffocating after the first hour." He gestured at the ballroom behind us. "All performance, no substance. Everyone pretending they care about whatever cause we're throwing money at this week."

"Childhood literacy, I think."

"Right. Very noble." His smile suggested he found it anything but. "How are you finding the evening?"

"Tolerable."

"High praise."

I studied him. He looked relaxed, at ease in his tuxedo, but something sharp lived behind those eyes. A predator sizing up prey, maybe. Or just another bored rich person looking for entertainment.

"And you?" I asked. "Enjoying yourself?"

"More now than five minutes ago." He raised his glass slightly. "The company's improved."

The line was smooth, practiced. He probably used variations on dozens of women at events like this.

"Flattery, Mr. Davenport?"

"It's observation, not flattery." He shifted, angled toward me. "You're different from the usual crowd in there. Less performative."

"You don't know me well enough to make that judgment."

"Fair point. But I'm an excellent judge of character. Comes with the territory." His eyes held mine. "You're smarter than you pretend to be at these things. It's in the way you watch people. Like you're cataloging weaknesses."

Unease prickled down my spine. He'd read me better in five minutes than Liam had in years.

"I used to be a lawyer," I said. "Old habits."

"Used to be." He caught the past tense. "What are you now?"

"A wife. A mother."

"Reductive." He drained his scotch. "But we all play our roles, I suppose. I should get back before my date thinks I've abandoned her."

I hadn't seen him arrive with anyone, but wealthy men always had someone on their arm at these events.

"Enjoy your evening."

"You too." He pushed off the railing, paused. "For what it's worth, your husband's an idiot."

He walked away before I could respond.

I stayed on the balcony a few more minutes, letting his words settle. Then I headed back inside, searching the crowd for Liam.

He wasn't by the bar. Not near the silent auction tables. Not glad handing donors by the stage.

I circled the ballroom twice. No sign of him.

Then I realized Chloe was also missing.