Chapter 1

That day, I went to the Red Room with rain in my hair.

I was about to push open the private room door when low laughter spilled out.

"Lucian, you heading home to smooth things over or what? Aren't you worried your Moretti princess will tear up the East Side again?"

"She wrecked Clara's old clinic last time. If she finds out you bought her a new place, she might set fire to your whole garage."

After a short silence, Lucian spoke. There was no mockery in his voice, only a kind of exhaustion I had never heard from him before.

"Evelyn wasn't always like this. She used to be thoughtful. She understood what I carried. Now I help the woman who saved my life, and she acts like I betrayed her."

"Clara saved me. I can't stand by and watch debt and enemies drag her under. But Evelyn won't listen. All she sees is me taking Clara's side."

"I love my wife. That has never changed. I'm just tired."

"I spoiled her too much. Now she's demanding, stubborn, jealous over every little thing, and she always expects me to be the first one to apologize. She has to learn that marriage doesn't mean everyone else disappears whenever she feels wronged."

Someone sighed. "Still, boss, she went through hell with you."

Lucian did not answer for a long time. When he finally did, his voice was lower.

"That is why I keep trying. But a man gets tired."

A draft swept down the corridor and cut through my coat. I stood in the shadows outside the door, my fingers slowly going numb.

The Red Room was Lucian's most private club, all black marble, dark gold light, and DeLuca men posted at every entrance with guns hidden under their jackets. Ordinary people did not walk in uninvited, but I was Mrs. DeLuca. Once, no one dared stop me.

For the first time, I felt like a stranger there.

Inside, someone tried to speak up for me. "Lucian, that is harsh. Everybody knows Evelyn almost lost her Moretti inheritance for you. She shared that loft with you, sold her jewelry, and went to the Bellinis to get you that first deal. None of that was nothing."

"I know," Lucian said, his voice too steady. "That is why I love her. That is why I let her have her way. She wants the Fifth Avenue apartment, I buy it. She hates some partner's daughter standing too close to me, I kill the deal. She wants the ocean at midnight, I have the cars drive three hours to take her there."

He paused, as if pressing his fingers to his brow. "But I am still a person. Every fight, right or wrong, ends with me bowing first. Evelyn thinks the whole world owes her an explanation, but I have an entire family on my back. I can't orbit her forever."

"And Clara?"

"Clara saved my life. I took two bullets at the docks that night. She dragged me into that clinic, dug the rounds out, and stayed awake for forty-eight hours. She asked for nothing except that I survive."

His tone softened. "With her, I don't have to explain every move. I don't have to coax her through every mood. I don't have to worry that one wrong word will set Evelyn off. I had forgotten what peace felt like."

By then, my chest felt as if something heavy had been lowered onto it. Breathing hurt.

So he had not stopped loving me. He had simply grown tired of me. He still loved me, but another woman made him feel calm, while I had become the demanding, spoiled wife he had to manage.

That was crueler than indifference.

I did not throw the door open. I did not storm in and make a scene the way everyone expected me to. I turned and left the Red Room. My black heels struck the wet stone steps, and headlights swept across the street, turning the rain into shards of glass.

The estate was dark when I got home.

I crossed the foyer alone and stopped before the giant wedding portrait on the wall. In the photo, Lucian wore a black suit, his DeLuca signet ring catching the light as he bent to kiss me. His eyes were so gentle that anyone would have believed he could hand me the whole world.

That wedding had come after he clawed his way back to the Commission. He bought me the prettiest stretch of Long Island coast, gave me shares my father once said were beyond Lucian's reach, and filled the glasshouse with red roses.

In the middle of that rose conservatory, he had said, "Evelyn, you walked through hell with me. From now on, I won't let anyone hurt you."

I had smiled up at him. "What if I get jealous? What if I act spoiled?"

He had kissed my forehead. "Then be jealous. Be spoiled. You don't have to be easy with me. You are my wife. I will comfort you first, and I will protect you first."

I believed him.

I got angry when another woman held his gaze too long. I slammed doors when he missed anniversary dinners. I called him home from meetings because I wanted him beside me.

I thought that was what being loved gave me.

Now he had said it was all a burden.

I stood in the foyer until the rain stopped, then called my private assistant, Valerie. "Contact the family attorney," I said, surprised by how calm I sounded. "I need divorce papers."

Silence stretched on the other end. "Madam, are you sure?"

I looked at the wedding portrait and found the woman in it ridiculous.

"Yes. And book me a flight back to St. Clair Harbor. I want to leave New York before next month."