CHAPTER TWELVE

The front door slammed with enough force to rattle the crystal vase on the entryway table. A petal detached from one of the dying roses Ava had arranged three days ago and floated to the marble floor.

Ethan brushed past Victoria and Phoebe who stood stunned in the living room and charged upstairs ignoring his mother's attempt to stop him.

His leather shoes pounded the curved staircase, each step heavier than the last, until he reached the second floor.

The bedroom door, Ava's bedroom door, banged against the wall. The framed wedding photo on the nightstand wobbled, then fell face down with a soft thud.

He picked it up to stare at the radiantly smiling face of the woman, happy as she took a vow to love him forever.

The same Ava who had just walked out of his life without a backward glance, divorce papers signed with a practiced flourish, her signature as elegant and composed as she had appeared throughout the proceedings.

He dropped the framed photo with a slam back on the table.

His fingers trembled as he yanked at his tie, the silk fabric burning against his neck. The knot finally gave way and he flung the tie across the room.

Sunlight streamed through the half-open curtains, catching on the spaces in the walk-in closet where her clothes still hung. The faint scent of her perfume, jasmine and vanilla, still clung to the pillow on the bed. Ethan grabbed it and inhaled deeply, then hurled it against the wall.

"Damn it!" His voice echoed in the cavernous room.

The memory of her at his grandfather's side at the hospital surfaced unbidden, the way she'd laughed at the old man's stories, how she'd touched his arm just so, her eyes calculating behind the warmth of her smile.

The way his grandfather had announced to him one evening: "This girl's got spirit! She'll make a fine McQueen."

Three months later, they were engaged.

Ethan paced the room, stopping at the window overlooking the garden where they'd said their vows.

Had he imagined the coldness in her eyes when she thought no one was looking? The hushed phone calls that ended abruptly when he entered a room? The casual questions about his grandfather's health and the company?

Or had he been so determined to see deceit that he'd created it where none existed?

His phone vibrated in his pocket. The screen displayed "PAUL MCQUEEN." Ethan's thumb hovered over the decline button before he swiped to answer.

"Ethan." His father's voice came through crisp and commanding. "My office. One hour."

The call ended before Ethan could respond.

***

The McQueen Group headquarters dominated the city skyline, fifty-two floors of glass and steel that reflected the afternoon sun with blinding intensity. Ethan squinted as he stepped out of his car, handing the keys to the driver with a nod.

"Good afternoon, Mr. McQueen," the receptionist chirped as Ethan strode through the lobby. Her gaze lingered a moment too long on his bare ring finger.

The executive elevator whisked him to the top floor in seconds. His father's assistant looked up from her desk, her expression carefully neutral.

"He's waiting for you," she said, gesturing toward the double doors.

Paul McQueen stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands clasped behind his back, watching the city below like a king surveying his domain. He didn't turn when Ethan entered, just raised a tumbler of amber liquid to his lips.

"Close the door behind you," Paul said, his reflection visible in the glass. Lines framed his mouth, deeper than Ethan remembered from Christmas. The chairmanship suited him or perhaps it was the other way around.

Ethan pushed the door shut with his fingertips. "You wanted to see me."

Paul turned, ice cubes clinking in his glass. "I heard the divorce was finalized this morning." He gestured to the bar cart. "Drink?"

"No." Ethan remained standing. "I'm driving."

"Suit yourself." Paul crossed to his desk and sat down, the leather chair creaking under his weight. "Congratulations are in order, I suppose."

Ethan's eyebrows lifted. "Congratulations?"

"You're free of her." Paul's lips curled into what might have been a smile on anyone else's face. "That girl was never right for a McQueen."

"That 'girl' was my wife for five years."

"And now she's not." Paul set his glass down with a sharp tap. "Which brings me to why I called you here." He opened a drawer and withdrew a manila folder, sliding it across the polished surface of the desk. "There's something you should know about your grandfather's will."

Ethan made no move to take the folder. "What about it?"

"The terms haven't changed." Paul's fingers drummed once, twice on the folder. "The requirement to be married to that woman to inherit his shares still stands."

The air in the room seemed to thin. "But the lawyer said..."

"The lawyer said what I paid him to say." Paul leaned back in his chair, assessing Ethan's reaction. "Your grandfather was always too sentimental for his own good. I merely... corrected the situation."

Blood rushed to Ethan's face, pounding in his temples. "You bribed Thornton to lie about the will."

It wasn't a question.

"I protected our family's interests." Paul's voice hardened. "Did you really want an orphan with no connections, no family background, controlling half of our company?"

"She was my wife."

"And you divorced her." Paul shrugged. "So clearly, you had your doubts as well."

The leather armrests of the chair creaked under Ethan's grip. "You had no right..."

"I had every right." Paul stood, placing his palms flat on the desk and leaning forward. "I'm chairman now. Your grandfather's sentimentality nearly cost us everything once. I won't let it happen again."

He walked around the desk and placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder. The heat and weight of it felt like an anchor.

"Victoria Blackwood would make a suitable match," Paul said, his tone softening. "Her uncle is announcing his mayoral candidacy next month. The Blackwoods go back with the chairman, they have good backgrounds. The right sort of connection for our family."

Ethan's jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. "As opposed to 'some unknown orphan'?"

"Precisely." Paul squeezed Ethan's shoulder before releasing him. "Think about it...We'd be hosting a charity gala next week, go as her partner then."

Ethan rose to his feet, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "I'll think about it ."

Paul's mouth twitched. "That's all I ask."

The office door closed behind Ethan with a soft click, nothing like the satisfying slam he craved. His father's assistant glanced up, then quickly away when she saw his expression.

The elevator ride down was a blur. In the underground parking garage, Ethan slid into his car and gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white in the dim light. The engine roared to life, but he made no move to put the car in gear.

His phone buzzed with a text message.

*Don't forget the gala next Thursday. -Paul

Ethan stared at the screen until it went dark. Then he started laughing, a hollow sound that echoed in the confined space of the car, because the alternative was screaming, and he wasn't ready to shatter just yet.

Questions tumbled through his mind like clothes in a dryer: Had Ava known about the real terms of the will? Had she married him for the shares after all? Or had she truly loved him, only to be driven away by his suspicions?

And if his father had lied about this, what else had he lied about?

Ethan backed out of the parking space with a screech of tires. He had no destination in mind, only the certainty that he couldn't go home to that empty house with its echoing rooms and fading scent of jasmine and vanilla.