Chapter 2

My family and the Blackwells had been intertwined for decades.

When I was seventeen, my mother was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. The only doctor who could perform the experimental treatment was a specialist under the Blackwell family's private medical network.

Before the surgery, my mother lay in the hospital bed and wept. "How will we ever repay this?"

Ethan's grandmother smiled gently and said, half-joking: "If you truly want to repay us, let Claire marry my grandson."

I stood frozen in the doorway, too young to understand what I was agreeing to.

But Ethan decided first.

"Done." He looked at his grandfather. "I want Claire. We'll marry when I take over the company."

The twenty-year-old heir made it sound like a blood oath.

So three years ago, the week before he left for London, we signed the marriage certificate. No wedding. No reception. Just a legal document and his promise to make it real when he returned.

Out of gratitude, I learned everything I could about elder care and household management. I visited the Blackwell estate every week to tend to his aging grandparents.

The whispers among their social circle grew vicious.

They said I was Ethan's unpaid servant — playing wife before I'd even earned the title.

But when I thought of my mother, I endured it.

What no one knew was that between hospital visits and household duties, I completed my MBA at Columbia — top of my class. I passed the CFA exams. I quietly built an investment portfolio that outperformed most hedge funds in the city.

I did it all in silence, because I was waiting for Ethan to see me as an equal.

Then my mother lost her battle. My father remarried within the year — a woman who made it clear I was no longer welcome. My status in my own family evaporated overnight.

There was no one left to protect me except Ethan.

And now he was telling me he wanted someone else.

Three years of loyalty — worth less than a few months of London nights.

I thought I'd break down, but I didn't cry. I went to the bedroom closet and retrieved the item I'd kept in a velvet box since our wedding day.

It was a Blackwell family heirloom — a platinum bracelet engraved with the Blackwell crest, given to every bride who entered the family. His grandmother had clasped it on my wrist herself.

And what I'd given him was my mother's sapphire ring — the only piece of jewelry she'd owned, passed down from her grandmother. It symbolized enduring love. It was all I had left of her.

I arranged to meet Ethan one final time. Since the marriage was over, the tokens should be returned.

After midnight, Ethan updated his social media for the first time in years.

A photo of him and Serena on a London rooftop, captioned: "Found my forever on the day I stopped looking."

So this was why he rushed to divorce me — he wanted to go public before the quarterly board meeting.

I sent a single text: Acknowledged.

Since he'd chosen, I'd let him go completely.

A few minutes later, an unexpected message appeared on my phone.

From a number I barely recognized.

Alexander: "I hope you're holding up."

My breath caught. I knew exactly who this was.

Alexander Voss — CEO of Voss International, the only conglomerate that rivaled the Blackwell empire.

I'd met him precisely twice, both times at charity galas.

Probably a wrong number.

But seconds later, a second message arrived.

"You deserve someone who never needed three years to recognize your worth."