Chapter 4

"Mr. Caruso, thank you for letting us stay here."

Ethan said it again.

I looked down at him, and something tightened in my chest. His eyes were already red, but he still held his chin up, refusing to cry.

For eight years, Damian had never publicly acknowledged our marriage.

I had handled contracts, lawsuits, and high-profile cases for Caruso & Associates, helping him build the firm's reputation piece by piece. Yet in front of everyone else, I was still only one of his lawyers.

When Ethan was younger, he didn't understand. He would run toward Damian and call him Dad the moment he saw him.

Every time, Damian stopped him.

"Not here, Ethan."

Eventually, Ethan learned. Around other people, he simply stopped calling Damian anything at all.

At home, though, he still called him Dad in a small, careful voice.

Today, for the first time, he had chosen a name for the distance between them.

Mr. Caruso.

And Damian looked like he couldn't stand hearing it.

"Ethan."

He stepped closer with a frown.

"Why are you calling me that?"

Ethan moved nearer to me instead of answering and took my hand.

"Mom, let's go. We shouldn't bother them."

I nodded.

"Okay."

We had planned to leave anyway.

I led Ethan toward the door, but Damian quickly came after us.

"Wait."

He stepped in front of us.

"Your luggage is still upstairs."

"We don't need it."

"Ethan's clothes and things are up there."

"I can replace whatever he needs."

Most of what remained upstairs had been collected over eight years. Taking it with me would only mean packing pieces of that life into boxes.

Then he looked at Ethan.

"If you need anything while you're away, tell me."

Ethan lowered his head and moved behind me.

I met Damian's eyes.

"I can take care of my son. You've always been worried someone might misunderstand our relationship. If you suddenly start acting like a concerned father, Sofia may start asking questions."

Damian was one of the best attorneys in New York. He could argue for hours in court without hesitation.

But standing in front of his own wife and son, he couldn't find a single word.

Then he noticed the elegant box of chocolates in Sofia's hands. He took it from her and held it out to Ethan.

"And this."

"I missed your birthday yesterday. Consider it a belated gift."

Sofia hesitated.

"Damian, those are—"

He cut her off.

"He likes sweets."

Despite everything, a little hope returned to Ethan's eyes, and I didn't stop him.

Ethan opened the box and reached for one of the chocolates. Just before he put it in his mouth, I noticed the flavor card tucked inside the lid.

Pistachio praline.

My face changed.

"Ethan, don't eat that."

Startled, he lowered his hand. I took the chocolate from him and checked the ingredients, my fingers tightening around the packaging.

Ethan was allergic to pistachios. The last time he ate them, his lips had swollen so badly that we ended up in the emergency room.

He saw my expression and frowned.

"Elena, what is it?"

I looked at him.

"Ethan is allergic to pistachios."He was diagnosed when he was five."

I held his gaze.

"You didn't know?"

"I didn't know," he said.

The small spark in Ethan's eyes disappeared.

"It's okay," he said quietly.

Ethan tightened his grip around my hand.

"You're never around me. Of course you wouldn't know."

Damian went completely still.

"Ethan…"

"Mom, let's go."

This time, Ethan didn't look at him again.

I set the chocolates down and led Ethan toward the door.

"Elena," Damian called. "I'm handling a divorce case in London tomorrow. I'll bring you both back when I return."

"Have you read the file?"

"Not yet."

I said nothing and left.

The next morning, as Ethan and I boarded our flight, a message appeared on my phone.

Your divorce petition has been served on Damian Caruso.

The first hearing is scheduled for tomorrow.

He didn't know it was ours.

Damian thought he was leaving New York to end a stranger's marriage.