Chapter 3

Julian called twenty minutes after I left the villa.

"You burned the house down?" His voice was thick with disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?"

Lost my mind?

"You've known I was a lunatic since the day you married me." I leaned back in the cab. "The villa, and you—I don't want either anymore."

"Vivian—"

I hung up.

I went back to my parents' estate on Long Island.

Before I'd even had a chance to collect my thoughts, I was already standing at the door to my father's study.

He sat in that same Chesterfield leather chair, the day's Wall Street Journal at his elbow. His expression was the same mask of indifference I'd grown up with.

"You're back?" He glanced up at me.

"I'm divorcing Julian," I said. Straight to the point.

He took off his glasses, folded them with deliberate care, and set them on the newspaper.

"The Ashford-Castellano joint development project goes into the approval phase next quarter. The West Side of Manhattan, three parcels in Long Island City, the resort in New Jersey—combined, we're looking at close to four billion. You think now is the time for a divorce? Who's going to clean up that mess?"

He didn't even ask me why. Didn't ask if I'd been hurt.

The only thing he cared about was the bottom line.

My voice began to shake. "He cheated on me, and you want me to just take it?"

"The adult world doesn't run on tantrums," my father said, his tone unchanged. "Your marriage is not yours alone."

"You're just like him." I stared at him, and suddenly the whole thing struck me as absurd. "You make me sick."

"Vivian!" He slammed the newspaper down on the desk.

I turned and walked out of the study.

From this day forward, I had no one to lean on. Not Julian. Not my father. Not anyone. Only myself.

Three days later. The ballroom at the Waldorf Astoria.

There was a gala Julian and I were both obligated to attend.

My father had left me no way out. Every investor in our two families' joint venture would be there. If I didn't show, it was as good as announcing to all of New York that the Ashfords and the Castellanos had broken apart.

I carried my champagne through the crowd and spotted Julian.

He was immaculate in a tailored suit, the mask of the perfect gentleman back in place. Sienna Voss stood beside him, her arm looped through his.

She saw me and walked over. One hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to rest on her stomach.

"Vivian! I have some wonderful news to share." She tilted her head with a little smile. "I'm carrying Julian's baby."

Wonderful news?

A few of the wives standing nearby exchanged glances. One pressed her fingers to her lips; another stared into her glass and pretended she hadn't heard.

I looked at Julian.

"There are certain things, Vivian," he said at last, "that you need to learn to accept. Mother has been growing more and more dissatisfied with you. She's given me an ultimatum—I have to produce an heir within the next two years."

How utterly rich.

Four years. For four years I had stood before his mother like a defendant awaiting sentencing. A full battery of tests every year, and every single report said the same thing: nothing wrong with me. So who, exactly, had the problem? But Julian would never get himself checked.

In the world of Julian Castellano and his mother, a Castellano man was incapable of having a problem.

I smiled and raised my glass. "Congratulations. Though I suppose the real question is—who's the father?"

Sienna's face went white.

As the gala wound down, I walked out alone through the hotel's front entrance and stood at the curb, waiting for a cab.

The roar of an engine came out of nowhere.

I turned. Blinding headlights, right in my face.

Sienna was behind the wheel of the Porsche Julian had custom-ordered for her, barreling straight toward me. I didn't even have time to move.

The next second, my body was launched into the air. I hit the concrete hard.

The car stopped beside me. The driver's window slid down, revealing Sienna's striking face, her eyes burning with venom. "Serves you right. Maybe next time you'll learn to watch that mouth of yours."

Julian sat in the passenger seat. His voice was utterly flat. "Vivian, you push people too far. It's time you understood that some words come with a price."

The engine revved again. The taillights traced a cold streak through the darkness and vanished.

I could taste iron in my mouth. My vision was going dark around the edges.

Just before I blacked out completely, a man crouched in front of me. "Five years since I've seen you, and this is what you've done to yourself?"

Rhys Kingsley.

We'd grown up together. Same street on the Upper East Side, an entire childhood spent side by side. He was two years older. He'd gotten into fights for me as a kid and been dragged to the police station on my account more than once. Five years ago he'd left for London to study. On his way out, he'd ruffled my hair and said, "Try not to burn the place down." After that, we traded the occasional email. Then I married Julian, and the letters tapered off to nothing.

"Stay awake, Vivian." His eyes were tight with worry. "The ambulance is almost here."