In the third year of her marriage, on the day Ethan Carter’s older brother died, Chloe Miller asked for a divorce.
A deep line formed between Ethan’s brows. “Is this because I took that slap for Bella?”
Bella. The name was a soft, intimate murmur on his lips. Chloe’s own smile felt brittle. Isabella Reed, his sister-in-law. “Yes,” she said. “That’s why.” Could a single slap end a marriage? The livid red handprint on Ethan’s face that night had been impossible to miss. He had thrown himself in front of Isabella with a protectiveness so fierce it had stunned the entire Carter family. Only Chloe had remained perfectly still.
Three days earlier, on their wedding anniversary, she had planned a surprise. She’d taken a late-night flight to the city where Ethan was working, only to find him not in his hotel room but in a private lounge with two friends. “Ethan, I have to say it,” one of them said, his voice carrying clearly into the hall where she stood. “Ditching your wife on your anniversary every year? That’s cold. Chloe’s a good woman.”
Ethan, usually so composed, sounded bone-weary. “You think I want to? If I didn’t stay away, she’d figure out I haven’t touched her in three years.”
“Because of…” The friend hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Because of Isabella? Ethan, are you out of your mind? She’s pregnant with another man’s kid, and you’re still pining for her?” He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “What about Chloe? You keep this up, you think Noah Price won’t come looking for you?”
“He won’t,” Ethan said, his voice flat and sure. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, a calm, dismissive gesture. “She married me. That was the end for them. Noah has had her blocked on ConnectApp for three years.”
Outside the room, Chloe turned and walked away. Her steps were even, but a fine, uncontrollable tremor had started in her hands. She had always suspected there was someone else. She had asked, probed, but the walls of silence were impenetrable. She had imagined a hundred different faces, but never once had she imagined Isabella—the sister-in-law she had greeted with polite smiles for three years. The humiliation was a bitter, physical thing in her throat.
As she left the club, the sky tore open in a downpour. She barely registered it, walking on as the rain soaked through her clothes, plastering her hair to her skin. That night, she caught the last flight back to Riverport. The moment she stepped into her empty house, a violent chill took hold. She burned with a fever for two days, and just as it began to break, she received the news: Liam Carter, Ethan’s older brother, was dead.
A week later, Liam’s funeral was held in Riverport. At the Carter residence, Chloe had been surviving on two or three hours of sleep a night. Leaving the cemetery, she felt hollowed out, as if her body were walking on while her soul lagged far behind. Their driver, Mike, was waiting by the gates. Chloe sank into the back seat and closed her eyes. “Take me home, Mike.”
“Not back to the Carter estate, ma’am?” he asked.
“No.” The funeral might be over, but the family’s reckoning was just beginning. Liam, the eldest son, the golden heir, had died because Isabella had insisted on going skydiving. His equipment malfunctioned, and he fell. By the time he reached the hospital, there was nothing to save, only a body to be stitched back together. The Carter family’s rage toward Isabella was still a raw, open wound. Chloe had no desire to watch her husband stand between that rage and another woman. She had her own life to put in order.
The car had just begun to roll forward when the rear door was pulled open. Ethan stood there, immaculate in a black, tailored suit. He was tall and lean, his expression composed as always, but a rare flicker of unease crossed his face. “Chlo, are you heading home?”
“Mm,” she acknowledged, her gaze sliding past him to the woman at his side.
It was Isabella, clutching the hand of a small, chubby boy. Leo Carter, Isabella and Liam’s four-year-old son, was round and soft as a teddy bear. Before Chloe could form a question, Leo clambered into the car as if it were his own. “Aunt Chloe, can Mommy and I get a ride home with you?”
Chloe’s brow furrowed. She looked at Ethan. His lips thinned into a tight line. “Mom and Dad are still… upset. Let Bella and Leo stay with us for a few days.” Seeing her hesitation, he added, “Didn’t you say you wanted a kid? This is a good chance to get some practice with Leo.”
A laugh almost escaped her, sharp and hysterical. She swallowed it down, the cemetery grounds a stark reminder of propriety. He was sending his brother’s widow and child to their home so he could face the family’s wrath alone. What a selfless man.
Back at their house, the housekeeper, Helen Jones, had already prepared the guest room. Ethan must have called ahead. Chloe didn’t bother to ask. She showered, letting the hot water sluice away the chill of the day, and collapsed into bed. She slept deeply, a dead and dreamless sleep, until her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was 9:00 p.m. She fumbled for it and saw the name: Olivia Davis, her best friend.
“I’ve drafted the divorce agreement, just like you asked,” Olivia’s voice came through the line, crisp and professional. “Want me to send it over for you to review?”
“Thanks, Ms. Davis, my beloved lawyer.” Chloe’s voice was thick with sleep. “No need. Just call a courier and have it delivered.”
“That fast?” Olivia’s tone softened with concern. “Are you sure about this? I know Ethan isn’t the husband of the year, but in some ways…”
Chloe pushed herself up, switching on the bedside lamp. The warm light chased the last of the grogginess from her mind. “I’m sure, Liv. I caught him jerking off to another woman’s photo.”