Chapter 2

When Dominic tossed the Tiffany box onto the coffee table, I was staring out the window.

The three-carat diamond ring rolled out of the box, spun once across the glass, like a coin not worth a damn.

"Take it. And stop walking around with that poor-me look on your face." His gray-brown eyes swept over me, his tone carrying its usual condescension.

I stared at the ring and remembered last week, when he told me to "voluntarily" hand over the hundred-million-dollar Brooklyn waterfront infrastructure contract to Kayla. He'd worn the exact same expression. To placate me, he'd promised to take me to Iceland.

Now I hadn't even seen the Iceland tickets, and he was already back asking for control of the East Side docks.

"The docks were left to me by my father." I heard myself say it. My voice was soft. So soft it felt like it might break.

Dominic's eyes darkened for a beat, then slid back into that careless smile. He leaned back in the handcrafted leather chair, toying with the ring with an elegance that was also cruel. "Your father gave you the docks, which means he gave them to the Marchetti family. The day you married me, everything you have became the family's." He took a sip of coffee. "Forget the docks. You yourself? You're mine."

My nails dug into my palm. I didn't know how to answer.

He stood, looking down at me, like he was studying my reaction. "Kayla needs this dock to prove herself. You should support her. Like I support you."

"Have you ever supported me?"

Dominic smiled, reached out, and lifted my chin. His grip left no room to refuse. "Honey, without the Marchetti name, you're nothing. Your father's dead. The Rosetti territory was carved up a long time ago. You think you'd still be sitting in the Marchetti wife's seat today? Who do you think you have to thank for that?"

A flicker of something almost tender passed through his eyes, like light through a crack in storm clouds. Gone in an instant. I turned my head and dodged his hand.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed his suit jacket. "Kayla and I are going to Miami for business. Back in three days. Sign the dock contract as soon as you can. Don't make me say it twice."

He got to the door and stopped.

Probably waiting for me to cry. To make a scene. To chase him down like I used to and grab his sleeve. But I just sat there. Didn't move.

"Sign it like a good girl, and you're still the Marchetti Donna." He threw it down as a final word.

His phone lit up. I caught the message that popped onto the screen. "I'm waiting in the car. Wearing that red dress you love~"

Dominic glanced at me, still no reaction. His brows drew tighter. Then finally he strode out.

The second the door shut, I felt like I'd surfaced from deep water, gasping for air.

I stood, walked into the study, and opened the safe.

At the very bottom lay a document.

Dominic didn't know. Every file he'd tossed at me, I'd signed.

Except, I'd also slipped some other things inside…

---

In the car, Kayla leaned in, the red dress hugging every curve. Her hand climbed up his arm. "What's wrong? So angry. Did the one at home upset you again?"

Dominic started the engine, muttering, "She's just gotten too used to the good life." But something was stuck in his chest. He thought of my flat, unreadable eyes, and the more he thought, the more irritated he got.

"As long as you get the real estate and dock control out of Evelyn's hands, what's there to worry about? She leaving you?" Kayla's voice was sweet as honey.

Dominic snorted, but couldn't help agreeing. "You're right. As long as I control her money, she'll depend on me even more."

"Exactly. Look, you said you're going on a trip. Is she crying? Making a fuss? She's not even stopping you anymore, is she?"

Dominic thought of my unusual calm. The wrongness in his gut got pressed down. He nodded. "Makes sense. Good thing I have you."

Kayla seized the moment to play coy. "Aww, she's lucky. Doesn't have to work. Not like me. No powerful dad, no powerful husband. I have to fight for everything myself. But at least I met someone capable and charming like you."

She paused, then stirred the pot with a pitiful look. "You're only bringing me again this time. What's your family going to think? I don't want to be the bad guy… Maybe I should go back to Vegas."

"Why would you leave? You're my personal assistant. No one gets to chase you off. Evelyn and the family, I'll handle them."

Kayla smiled, her voice muffled. "Okay. I'll listen to you. But you have to promise me. No more fighting with her because of me."

At the word "fighting," a thought flickered through Dominic's mind.

Today's Evelyn was too calm. Calm in a way that wasn't like her.

But then Kayla lifted her face, looking up at him with those wet eyes, full of worship. His vanity was neatly filled. The unease got tossed aside.

---

At that very moment, I was sitting under the study lamp, opening the divorce agreement tucked inside the infrastructure contract.

Dominic's signature was already there, steady on the page.

Before I married, my father had left ownership of the East Side docks to me alone. It was never folded into any Marchetti family asset.

All I'd signed after the wedding was an authorization letter letting Dominic "manage it on my behalf."

I closed the file and sent my divorce lawyer a message.

[He signed it. In three days, when he's back, everything ends.]

Outside, the night was heavy. I looked at my own face reflected in the glass and suddenly remembered the light in his eyes three years ago, when he lifted my veil at the wedding.

That light was real. And this coldness now was real too.

I left the diamond ring on the coffee table, stood up, and walked to the bedroom. In three days, this house would no longer have a woman named Evelyn, foolishly staying in the Marchetti family, waiting for him to come home.

And Dominic, you'll finally know. What you signed with your own hand wasn't just a transfer of the docks.

It was proof that you let go, with your own hand, of the wife who loved you deeply.

Then I called my private client manager at the bank and froze every account jointly held with Dominic.

That done, I went upstairs to pack.

Three years ago, when I moved in, I brought one suitcase.

Three years later, leaving, I still brought just one suitcase.

Deep in the back of the closet was a safe. Inside were the pearl necklace my mother left me, the family rose signet ring my father gave me, and a Swiss bank promissory note.

Enough to start over anywhere.

I'd never told Dominic about any of it.

Carrying the suitcase downstairs, my phone started vibrating wildly.

Dominic's calls. One after another. Like a debt collector.