Chapter 2

Ethan discovered the frozen card seventeen minutes later.

He called six times. On the seventh, I put him on speaker and drove into our lakefront apartment's garage.

"Did you freeze the card?" he asked, his anger held down by a thin thread.

"Yes."

"Are you out of your mind? My card got declined in front of a client. Do you know how humiliating that was?"

"Didn't you say you wouldn't use my money again?"

The other end went quiet for a second.

A month earlier, the statements showed he had bought Grace a gaming console, a custom gown, designer bags, and a five-star rooftop birthday party with fireworks.

On my birthday, he gave me a handwritten card and said the company was expanding, so we had to be frugal.

When I confronted him, he said I didn't trust him and insisted Grace was only a sister figure.

Looking back, I understood something. Once a person gets used to being favored, they stop feeling indebted.

Ethan took a breath, as if he had finally found an explanation that suited him.

"I know. You're still angry that I canceled the anniversary. Sofia, I told you. East Harbor is important to the company. Grace has never handled this kind of project before. I couldn't just leave her alone over there. When this is over, I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

Then his tone hardened into an order. "Now restore the card. You have ten minutes."

Before, the moment he said he was angry, I panicked. I was afraid he was tired, afraid he was upset, afraid he would lock himself inside the office and refuse to come home again.

Now I understood his troubles weren't all from the company. Most came from choosing Grace first.

Why was I still paying for his choices?

"Ethan, ask Grace to pay. Her project. Her client. Her jewelry bill. Since you think she's so capable, she should be able to handle it."

"Sofia!"

I hung up, turned off my phone, and stepped out of the car.

The apartment had been mine before the marriage.

Ethan liked lake views and high floors, so I bought this place and decorated it to his taste.

I had even wanted to add his name to the deed, but my lawyer reminded me Bellandi assets were never transferred casually.

I opened the closet and started packing.

I didn't touch Ethan's suits, ties, or cuff links. I packed only my dresses, passport, jewelry, and several contracts.

That evening, the real estate agent came to take photos.

He saw the wedding portrait on the wall and hesitated. "Mrs. Hale, should we take this down?"

I looked at the woman in the photo.

Five years ago, I had stood beside Ethan in white, smiling without a single defense, believing I would be loved that way forever.

"Take it down," I said. "The apartment is going on the market. There's no need to keep old things."

The next day, I went to my lawyer's office.

Dante Rossi, the Bellandi family's longtime counsel, confirmed Ethan's signature and asked only one question.

"Are you certain you don't want your father involved?"

"I'm certain. This is my marriage, not a family war."

Dante nodded. "Then we proceed as instructed. Cook County has the uncontested petition. If Mr. Hale raises no valid objection, it will take effect on schedule."

I looked at the document and remembered the way Ethan had signed it.

That day, he had been rushing to the airport to accompany Grace. He hadn't even looked at the title of the file I handed him.

I had reminded him, "You should read it first."

He dragged his suitcase with one hand and signed with the other. "No need. You're my wife. Why wouldn't I trust you?"

But his so-called trust was only certainty. He was certain I would never leave, certain that a woman with "no family" would always return for one hug or one promise.

He didn't know I had never been without a family. For him, I had simply hidden my name.

Over the next week, the apartment quickly found a buyer.

I set the price low, so the deal moved fast. After signing the contract, I agreed to hand over the apartment in one month.

As I left the agency, Grace posted another update.

In the photo, she wore a thin diamond necklace at a candlelit dinner. Ethan's face wasn't shown, only his wrist.

The watch on that wrist was the fifth-anniversary gift I had bought for him.

Her caption read, [The favored never have to ask.]

I turned off the screen.

Being favored wasn't the sin.

The sin was Ethan favoring her while expecting me to stand in place and hold up his whole world.

That night, I returned to the apartment for one final inventory check.

The key had just slid into the lock when I heard laughter from the living room.