All Chapters of Divorced, Now Watch Me Rise: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the watch ticking on the floor.Then Ryan sighed, like I had ruined his evening.He reached for his shirt and buttoned it slowly. He didn’t rush. He didn’t look guilty. He looked like a man getting ready for a meeting.“Go downstairs,” he said. “We’ll talk in the living room.”“Talk?” My voice cracked. “You want to talk?”“I want you to stop standing in the doorway like a ghost.” He glanced at Vanessa. “Give us a minute.”Vanessa didn’t move. She just tilted her head at me, the way she used to when we were kids and she’d broken something of mine.Oops.I went downstairs. I don’t know why. My legs just did what he told them to, the way they always had.The living room was spotless. I’d cleaned it this morning. Fresh flowers on the table. His favorite whiskey on the shelf.Ryan came down five minutes later holding a brown envelope. He dropped it on the coffee table in front of me.“What is this?”“Divorce papers.”I laughed. It came out

Margaret Lin arrived at Rosie’s twenty minutes later.She was not what I expected. Small, maybe sixty-five, silver hair cut sharp at the jaw, a long black coat that probably cost more than this entire diner. She walked straight to my booth like she’d known exactly where I’d be sitting.She stopped and looked at me for a long moment.“You have her eyes,” she said quietly.Then she sat down, waved off the waitress, and held out her hand.“The papers.”“How did you know about the papers?”“Because I know Richard Cole,” she said. “And because the timing is too perfect. Catherine’s trust becomes fully claimable when you turn twenty-six. Your birthday was last month, wasn’t it?”It was. Ryan had forgotten it. I’d baked my own cake.I gave her the brown envelope. She put on reading glasses and went through the pages fast, the way people read things they already know.On page six, she stopped.“There it is.”“What?”She turned the page toward me and tapped a paragraph near the bottom. Clause

Milan Fashion Week. Final show.The lights went down. The music started. And the room full of the most powerful people in fashion leaned forward to see the collection everyone had been whispering about all season.Phoenix, by E. Hart.No one knew who E. Hart was. No photos. No interviews. Just three years of designs that kept winning prizes, and a name that appeared on Isabelle Moreau’s runway like a secret.Backstage, I stood behind the curtain and watched the first model walk out.Deep red silk. A dress that looked like it had been on fire and decided to rise anyway.The room went silent.Then someone started clapping, and the whole room followed.Model after model. Gold that looked like melted sunlight. Black lace cut sharp as a blade. A white gown with a long burned edge at the hem, like a wedding dress that had walked out of a fire.I had designed that one at 4 a.m. on the third anniversary of the night I left.Nobody in that room knew why it made me cry.“Breathe, chérie,” Isabe

Knight Tower was sixty floors of glass and steel in the center of the city I’d run away from three years ago.I stood at the window of the top floor and looked down at the streets. Somewhere down there was the Halston Grand. Rosie’s diner. A house with a garden I’d planted with my own hands.It all looked so small from up here.“Nervous?”Alexander stood beside me, hands in his pockets, looking at the same view.“No,” I lied.“Good. Because he will be.” He glanced at me. “Remember, you don’t have to say anything. Let them talk. People like Ryan always say too much when they’re desperate.”“And if he recognizes me right away?”“Then you’ll see his face the moment he realizes what he threw away.” He turned toward the door. “Either way, you win.”“He’s in the elevator,” his assistant called from the doorway.“Thank you, Clara.”I sat at the side of the conference table. Plain black dress. Hair cut short. Glasses I didn’t need. On the agenda, I was listed as Design Consultant.The doors o

“How long?” I asked. “How long has Ryan known about the trust?”Margaret was quiet on the other end of the line. I was standing in the empty living room of the apartment Knight Corp had rented for me. White walls. Huge windows. Not one thing in it that belonged to me.“Six months, at least,” she said finally. “Maybe longer. Richard’s lawyers contacted my office in the spring. They asked very polite questions about Catherine’s estate. I gave them very polite non-answers.”“You didn’t tell me.”“You were finishing your collection. I didn’t want to distract you.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. That was a mistake.”I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. Down below, the city moved like nothing had happened. Taxis. Umbrellas. People going home to people who loved them.“Ryan asked me today if Alexander knew,” I said. “About the shares. He looked scared, Margaret. I’ve never seen him scared.”“He should be scared,” she said. “Thirty-five percent changes everything. If you claim it, you sit o