Chapter 2

Evelyn's POV

New York's most prestigious charity auction. Dazzling lights. The quiet rustle of silk and perfume.

I sat in the front-row VIP section, my hand drifting almost unconsciously to the hidden pocket of my clutch.

Inside was an ultrasound printout I had gotten that morning. Six weeks. You could already make out the tiny gestational sac.

"Our next lot is Resting Light, a posthumous work by the celebrated autistic savant painter. Opening bid: ten million dollars."

The auctioneer's voice echoed through the hall.

I'd always loved that painting.

I wanted to bid on it and hang it in the art therapy room at the special needs school.

The man beside me, Ethan Channing, was leaning back in his chair with that lazy ease he always carried. He didn't even glance at the stage. He just raised his paddle.

"Fifty million."

The room erupted. Then came the whispers, thick with envy.

"Mr. Channing really does spoil Evelyn rotten, dropping fifty million on a painting without so much as blinking."

"Who doesn't know Evelyn is everything to Ethan? Seven years, and the man built her the best special needs school in all of New York from the ground up."

I turned to look at him as the murmurs swirled around us.

His profile was sharp and composed. He noticed my gaze and turned toward me, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear with an ease that felt entirely natural.

"Do you like it?" His voice was gentle. "Think of it as a warm-up for your seven-year anniversary gift."

Something warm stirred in my chest.

I reached for his hand. I was finally about to tell him about the pregnancy.

"Ethan, I actually have something for you too."

"Shh."

He closed his fingers around mine, but his eyes had already moved past me, toward the stage.

"The closing lot is up."

It was the evening's headline piece. The Dream Tide sapphire necklace.

Opening bid: one hundred million dollars.

Ethan let go of my hand and sat up straight.

"Three hundred million."

His voice dropped into the silence of the room like a stone. Final. Unarguable.

I froze.

Three hundred million for a necklace? I never wore jewelry like that. Ethan knew that about me.

The hammer came down.

Ethan rose from his seat. Under the eyes of every person in that room, he accepted the velvet box from the attendant.

I thought he was going to hand it to me. I'd already begun to smile.

But Ethan simply stepped past me.

He walked, long and unhurried, straight to a corner at the far end of the second row.

A woman was sitting there. Slender. Dark glasses covering her face.

Ethan stopped in front of her. The cool edge in his expression softened in an instant.

He opened the box himself, lifted out the necklace, leaned down, and fastened it around her neck with his own hands.

The woman slipped her sunglasses off to reveal a face that was delicate and pale.

She looked up at Ethan, her eyes going pink at the corners.

"Ethan, you still remember I love stars."

"Of course."

His voice was quiet, but it reached me clearly.

That was Serena. Ethan's first love, the one who had left for Paris seven years ago.

The room went graveyard still.

Every look that turned my way shifted in an instant from envy into pity, sharp and unconcealed.

I sat where I was, the ultrasound printout in my bag pressing against me like a hot iron.

So this was how it worked. He could casually throw fifty million at a painting and keep me gilded and displayed like something precious. And then, in the very same evening, he could grind what was left of my dignity into the floor for someone else, with the whole room watching.

He gave me every material thing I could want. And then, in front of everyone, he delivered the cruelest blow imaginable.