Chapter 2

I didn't sleep that night.

By morning, I'd made a decision: I would not tell Ethan about the baby. Not yet. Not until I figured out what I wanted — not what he decided for me.

I came downstairs to find Ethan already at the breakfast table, scrolling his phone, impeccable in a charcoal suit. He didn't look up.

"There's a charity gala on Saturday," he said, like he was dictating to an assistant. "Wear something appropriate. My mother will be there."

"Good morning to you too," I muttered.

He glanced up briefly. "Did you say something?"

"I said okay."

His phone buzzed and his expression softened instantly — a warmth I'd never once seen directed at me.

"Hey, yeah, I'll send the driver... No, it's no trouble..."

Elena.

I poured myself some orange juice and sat down across from him. He didn't notice. He never noticed.

When he finally hung up, he straightened his tie and said, "Elena's arriving Thursday. She'll need someone to show her around. You're free during the day, right?"

I set my glass down carefully. "You want me to babysit your ex-girlfriend?"

"She's not my ex. She's my—" He stopped, catching himself. "She's an old friend. And she doesn't know anyone in New York."

She's not my ex. The words echoed. Right. Because in Ethan's mind, Elena was never "ex" anything. She was the interrupted love story, the one who went to Paris for her fashion career, the one he never got over.

I was just the placeholder.

"Fine," I said. "I'll show her around."

Keep your enemies close, right?

Thursday came. Ethan sent his private car to the airport — the same car he'd never once sent for me, not even when I had a 104-degree fever last winter and had to take the subway to the hospital alone.

Elena Park walked into our penthouse like she owned it.

She was exactly what I expected: tall, elegant, French-manicured, wearing a cream Chanel coat and a smile that could cut glass.

"Claire! Finally!" She hugged me like we were old friends. "Ethan talks about you all the time."

No, he doesn't.

"Welcome to New York," I said politely.

She looked around the penthouse, running her fingers along the marble counter. "You've kept it exactly how Grandpa Cole liked it. Ethan told me you handle all the household stuff. That's so sweet of you."

Household stuff. Like I was the maid.

"I do what I can," I said.

Elena's eyes swept over me — my plain sweater, no makeup, hair in a low bun — and I caught the flicker of satisfaction before she masked it.

"We should go shopping before the gala! My treat. I know the best boutiques."

"I already have a dress."

"Oh." She tilted her head. "Well, I'm sure it's lovely."

That evening, Ethan came home early for the first time in months. He walked straight past me in the kitchen and into the living room where Elena was lounging on the sofa.

"How was your first day?" His voice was warm, attentive — a version of Ethan I'd never met.

"Amazing! Claire was a wonderful tour guide." Elena smiled at me over his shoulder. "You're lucky to have her."

Ethan didn't respond to that.

Instead, he said, "I made us a reservation at Per Se. The three of us."

Per Se — the restaurant I'd been begging him to take me to for our anniversary. He'd said he didn't see the point of overpriced food.

I gripped the kitchen counter until my knuckles turned white.

"Actually," I said, "I'm not feeling well. You two go ahead."

Ethan frowned slightly. "You sure?"

Elena jumped in, "Oh no, Claire, are you okay? We can stay in—"

"Go," I said firmly. "I insist."

They left twenty minutes later. From the window, I watched Ethan open the car door for Elena — something he'd never done for me. Not once.

My phone buzzed. Elena had posted on Instagram.

"Reunited with my favorite person in my favorite city. Some things never change. 🤍"

The photo showed Ethan's hand on the small of her back as they walked into the restaurant.

I put my phone down and opened my laptop.

My architecture submission needed final refinements before the competition deadline. I worked until 2 AM, fueled by cold fury and the strange, calm clarity that comes when you finally stop pretending.

They came home at midnight. I heard Elena's laughter echoing through the hallway, then Ethan's low voice: "Shh, Claire might be sleeping."

Might be.

He didn't check.