The day Ethan Shaw booked a private island for his new girlfriend’s birthday was the day I picked up his medical report. Well, now. Cancer. I calmly asked the doctor just three questions. “How long does someone in his condition have?” “Would drinking and smoking every day make it worse, faster?” “And what if he’s also trying to have a baby, with…you know, zero restraint?” 1 Ethan Shaw was a very busy man. So busy that when his own medical reports were ready, it was me who went to collect them. At that exact moment, his secretary, Jenna, was on the phone with me. The girl was practically sobbing. “Claire, aren’t you going to do anything about Mr. Shaw?” I scanned the details of Ethan’s lab results, my voice placid as I dealt with her. “Jenna, does Mr. Shaw know how unprofessional you’re being?” “But… but you’re his wife!” she choked out. “He’s messing around out there, aren’t you even angry?” Angry? I leaned against a quiet corner of the hospital corridor and let out a cold, quiet laugh. If I got angry over little things like that, I would have died of rage a hundred times over by now. I tried to summon a little patience for the girl on the other end of the line. “It’s Miss Vance’s birthday today. What’s wrong with Ethan renting an island to make her happy? For your birthday, didn’t he buy you that limited-edition handbag?” The line went silent, then the call disconnected. Incredible, really. I’d never seen a mistress so shamelessly run to the wife, crying because she was losing a turf war with another mistress. What did she expect? That I was going to step in and play referee for them? I really don’t have the time. I smoothed a stray piece of hair from my forehead and returned my focus to the report in my hands. Well, now. Cancer. I rubbed my eyes hard, making sure I wasn’t mistaken. Then I sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity was listening. One of them had finally answered. My dream was coming true. 2 I took Ethan’s medical report to see my old college friend, David, who’s a doctor. We met privately in a quiet café, tucked away in a corner booth. I kept my head down, my expression a careful mask of melancholy and gravity. “David, I haven’t dared to tell him yet,” I began, my voice low. “I’m afraid he won’t be able to handle it.” David’s face was equally grim. “A lot of families feel the same way, Claire. But ultimately, we believe it’s best for the patient to know the truth.” “No, you don’t understand.” I made a show of dabbing at my eyes, my voice thick with contrived emotion. “I just want him to be happy right now. I want him to stay happy for as long as he has left.” He looked at me with such sympathy, letting out a soft sigh. “Whatever you need to know, just ask. We go way back. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.” I took a moment to compose myself, then slowly looked up. “How long does he have?” “It’s hard to say. Maybe six months. Maybe a year. With aggressive treatment, maybe longer.” Maybe longer? That wasn’t the answer I wanted. A flicker of annoyance passed through me, but I kept my voice steady. “Will smoking every day make it worse?” I asked, then quickly corrected myself. “I’m sorry, it’s just… he has so many business dinners. If smoking is going to affect his health, I’ll try to find a way to talk him out of it.” David looked helpless. “In his condition? He absolutely has to quit.” Quit smoking? Ethan? Not a chance. I lowered my gaze again, asking my final question. “And… should we be limiting our… marital life?” Fearing he wouldn’t understand, I added, “I still want to have a child with him. At least… at least then I’ll have a part of him with me, always.” That did it. David’s professional composure finally cracked. “Claire, you need to prepare yourself. A child… I’m afraid that’s something you can’t force.” And with that, a wave of profound relief washed over me. A train wreck like Ethan Shaw. Who in their right mind would want to have a child with him? All I wanted was a confirmation of his expiration date. 3 I made David promise to keep this confidential, and he agreed. I trust him. On the drive home, every breath of air I took felt sweet. I found the divorce papers I kept in my nightstand drawer. I had once planned on using them to make a clean break, to walk away with what I could. Not anymore. I fed the papers into the shredder, the machine’s grinding a symphony to my ears. For the days to come, all I had to do was wait. Ethan would never give up his cigarettes, and he’d never give up his women. The only question was whose bed he would finally die in. I poured myself a glass of expensive red wine and put on some soft jazz. Then, I drew the curtains of my five-thousand-square-foot penthouse overlooking the river and savored the pure, unadulterated joy of the moment. I have been married to Ethan for seven years. I have never, not once, been as happy as I am today. My only fear now was some unforeseen complication that might prevent me from smoothly inheriting his entire estate. I was tempted to immediately call up the most expensive young escort in the city to come share this perfect night with me. 4 The next time I heard from Jenna was a month later. Ethan had fired her. Because his new flame, Sienna, didn’t like her. Jenna was hysterical on the phone. “Why? Who the hell does she think she is?” I moved through my yoga poses, listening to her rant. “She’s just some D-list influencer! What’s so special about her? Her plastic surgery face isn’t even as pretty as mine! What does Ethan even see in her?” I stared straight ahead, holding a perfect warrior II, a small smile on my face. “I don’t know what he sees in her, Jenna, but I know he’s not seeing you anymore.” “It’s not fair!” “You’re an idiot,” I said, my voice sharp. “That condo he gave you in the West End is worth five million. You could sell it tomorrow if you dropped the price by a few hundred thousand. You’re never going to be Mrs. Shaw, and you’re never going to have Ethan’s love. You should have just taken the money and disappeared quietly.” Jenna whimpered, sounding like she had more to say. I had no interest in hearing it. “Or, you could wait for me to file a motion to reclaim it as marital property. Then you’d be left with nothing at all. Your choice.” Silence. Then a click. She wasn’t that difficult to handle. And she’d been around the longest, I recalled. Four, maybe five years. Of all Ethan’s women, Jenna had always been the most docile. She knew what she wanted and never dreamed of trying to usurp my position. I didn’t begrudge her the five million. See? Sometimes, I can be very generous. 5 During my afternoon break, my assistant forwarded me an email. Sienna Vance… I opened her file. D-list influencer? Hardly. She was a major beauty blogger with several blockbuster product collaborations. Tens of millions of followers across her platforms. She was the one Ethan rented the island for last month. They say influencers make good money; someone at her level must be loaded. So what was she doing with a married “old man” like Ethan? It couldn’t possibly be true love, could it? I rested my chin on my hand, scrolling idly through her photos. I couldn’t figure it out, and I didn’t want to waste the energy trying. Ethan wasn’t going to be around for much longer anyway. I just needed him to die, quickly and cleanly, while our marriage was still legally intact. Don’t transfer any major assets. Don’t cause me any trouble. As for spending a little pocket change to entertain his women? I couldn’t care less. Compared to Ethan’s net worth, it was a drop in the ocean. I’m very generous. But someone, it seemed, was determined to ruin my plans. Because Sienna Vance wanted to be the real Mrs. Shaw. 6 Ethan brought her to our home. Boldly. Shamelessly. I had just woken up from a beauty nap. I opened my bedroom door to find Sienna clicking across the marble floors of my penthouse in a pair of stilettos, taking a tour. She seemed to adore the place. The decor, the furniture, the art, and of course, the panoramic river view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was completely captivated, suddenly calling out to Ethan. “Ethan, come look! You can actually see the gulls from here! Oh, I love it!” Ethan wrapped an arm around her slim waist, murmuring, “As long as you love it. That’s all that matters.” “So when can I move in?” “Soon. Very soon.” They kissed, oblivious to my presence, and Ethan’s hand was already sliding up under her shirt. I really didn’t want to interrupt. But. It was making my eyes hurt. And! I didn’t want them dirtying my house. I’ve grown accustomed to this place. I plan to enjoy it by myself, to entertain my own beautiful young things here. So, I cleared my throat, stopping them before they could proceed any further. They both turned. Ethan didn’t even bother to feign surprise, his hand still resting on Sienna’s waist. I tightened the belt of my silk robe and walked over to the armchair, sitting down gracefully. I picked up the cup of herbal tea my housekeeper had left for me, took a delicate sip, and said, “We have a guest? You should have told me. I would have prepared a proper welcome.” Sienna nestled against Ethan, poking him in the chest. Ethan cleared his throat. He walked over and sat on the sofa across from me. No preamble, no beating around the bush. “Claire,” he said, his voice flat. “Let’s get a divorce.” The water in my teacup trembled slightly, the flower petals dancing on the surface. “A divorce?” I repeated the word, my tone light, as if he’d just told a moderately amusing joke. If he’d asked me this a month ago, I might have just nodded. We would have let the lawyers handle the division of assets and the paperwork. But things were different now. “No,” I said simply. Before Ethan could react, Sienna stormed forward. She stood over me, glaring. “Why not? Why won’t you agree? Ethan doesn’t love you anymore! He loves me!” “Oh.” It was the only response she deserved. She didn’t understand. “We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” she continued. “We’ll give you enough money so you can live comfortably for the rest of your life. Ethan said, for the sake of your seven years together, he won’t leave you in a bad position.” Is that so? It sounded less like a settlement and more like charity, like they were tossing a few coins to a beggar. What others give you can never be as reliable as what you own yourself. Even a kindergartener knows that. Seeing my lack of reaction, Sienna grew anxious. She turned to Ethan. “Ethan…” Ethan shifted, crossing his legs, his tone turning vaguely threatening. “If you agree to a divorce now, you’ll walk away with something. Like Sienna said, we won’t be unfair to you. But if you make this difficult, I’ll make sure you get nothing. Not a single cent.” “Oh.” I maintained my cool, detached expression. Sienna’s voice rose to a shriek. “Is that the only word you know how to say?” Of course not. I stood up, walked calmly around the sofa, and repeated, “I am not agreeing to a divorce.”
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