Chapter 3

I checked into a hotel six blocks from my own home.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. My knees were still bleeding through my stockings. My palms were raw. But the physical pain was nothing.

For five years, I had worked eighteen-hour days in a foreign country. I had missed my children's first steps, first words, first days of school. I had sacrificed everything because Dominic told me our family needed it.

And he had used that time to replace me.

I opened my laptop.

First, I checked the Whitfield Group's financials. My access credentials still worked — Dominic hadn't thought to revoke them. In thirty minutes, I confirmed what I already suspected.

Every major contract. Every international partnership. Every revenue stream that kept the Whitfield Group alive — I had built them all.

The company's net worth had grown from twelve million to over four hundred million dollars in five years. Because of me.

Dominic's contribution during that time? He had hired Chloe as his "executive assistant" fourteen months after I left.

I dug deeper.

Corporate credit card statements showed Dominic had spent six million dollars on Chloe in three years. A penthouse in SoHo. A white Porsche. Shopping sprees at Bergdorf's. A two-hundred-thousand-dollar engagement ring from Tiffany's.

Engagement ring.

I zoomed in on the statement. The purchase was dated three weeks ago.

He was going to propose to her.

We were still legally married.

My hands were shaking, but my mind was razor-sharp. I screenshotted everything. Every transaction. Every transfer. Every document.

Then I found something that stopped my heart.

Dominic had filed for full custody of Lily and Lucas.

The filing was dated two months ago. In the petition, he stated that I had "voluntarily abandoned the family home and showed no interest in parenting." Chloe had submitted a supporting affidavit calling herself "the children's primary maternal figure."

He was trying to take my children from me using the years he begged me to be away.

I closed the laptop slowly.

I called the best family attorney in New York — Margaret Chen, a woman who had never lost a custody case in twenty-two years.

"Margaret, this is Vivienne Ashford-Whitfield. I need to see you first thing tomorrow morning."

"Vivienne? The Vivienne who closed the Kyoto deal? I'll clear my entire morning."

I hung up and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair was a mess. My mascara had streaked down my face. My stockings were torn and bloody.

I looked like a woman who had lost everything.

But I hadn't. Not yet.

Dominic had forgotten one critical thing: I wasn't just his wife. Before our marriage, I was Vivienne Ashford. My maiden name carried more weight in this city than his ever would.

My father, Richard Ashford, had built one of the largest real estate empires on the East Coast before his retirement. My mother sat on the boards of three major charities. My family's name was on a wing of the Metropolitan Museum.

I had kept my background quiet during our marriage because Dominic's ego was fragile. I let him believe he was the powerful one. I let the world think I was just a dutiful wife supporting her husband's company.

That was my first mistake.

It would also be my last.

My phone rang. The caller ID showed "Lily's iPad."

My heart nearly stopped. I answered immediately.

"Mommy?"

Lily's small voice — five years old now, a voice I had only heard through video calls for years — filled the hotel room.

"Baby. Lily, it's Mommy."

"Mommy, Aunt Chloe said you went to heaven. But Lucas saw you outside today. Are you a ghost?"

My throat closed.

"No, sweetheart. Mommy is right here. Mommy is alive."

"Aunt Chloe said you didn't love us anymore. She said that's why you left."

I pressed my hand over my mouth to stop the sound that was trying to come out.

"That is not true, Lily. Mommy loves you more than anything in the entire—"

The call cut off.

Thirty seconds later, a text from Dominic: "Don't contact my children again."

His children.

I set the phone down carefully. I looked at the ceiling.

Then I picked the phone back up and made one more call.

"Dad. It's Vivienne. I need your help."

On the other end, my father's voice went from warm to ice-cold in one sentence.

"Tell me everything."