Chapter 6 - THE SECOND BETRAYAL
I hated that Ethan could still plant doubt in me.
I hated it more because he knew he could.
The next morning, I called Julian.
"Why did Aster North want Harbor & Table?"
No greeting.
No small talk.
He was silent for half a second.
"Where are you?"
"Answer me."
"We wanted the subscriber data, hospitality relationships, archive, and brand."
"Anything else?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"You."
I nearly hung up.
"That isn't charming."
"It wasn't intended to be."
"Explain."
"Aster North has been trying to recruit you for two years."
I frowned.
"No one contacted me."
"We contacted Ethan."
My stomach sank.
Julian continued.
"Twice."
"What did he say?"
"That you had no interest in an executive or public-facing role."
Of course.
"He said you were planning to leave publishing after the wedding."
I sat down.
"He told you that?"
"Yes."
"What else?"
"That most of the editorial work attributed to you was collaborative."
I laughed bitterly.
"Meaning his."
"Meaning the brand's."
For years, doors had not failed to open for me.
Ethan had been standing on the other side holding them shut.
Julian's voice softened.
"Claire."
"I'm here."
"I should have contacted you directly."
"Yes."
"I made the mistake of assuming your business partner spoke for you."
"He was my fiancé."
"That made it worse, not better."
I appreciated that he didn't excuse himself.
"What do you want now?"
"Professionally?"
"Obviously."
There was the faintest pause.
"Professionally, I want to know what Claire Bennett builds when nobody else gets to tell her how small it should be."
That sentence followed me for the rest of the day.
By afternoon, the legal situation exploded.
Mara obtained an emergency injunction preventing the Harbor & Table sale.
The story leaked.
Not the affair.
The corporate dispute.
Headlines appeared.
Luxury Media Power Couple Split Days Before Wedding.
Harbor & Table Acquisition Frozen Amid Ownership Fight.
Ethan gave no official interview.
Instead, anonymous "sources close to the company" described me as emotional, unpredictable, and overwhelmed by wedding pressure.
I knew exactly who those sources were.
For twenty-four hours, I said nothing.
Then Rachel called.
"You need to see what people are posting."
"I don't want to."
"Claire."
I opened social media.
Thousands of comments.
Some supported me.
Others called me vindictive.
One said:
She probably caught him texting someone and decided to burn down a $48M company.
Another:
This is why you never build a business with your girlfriend.
I closed the app.
"Don't read comments," Rachel said.
"You just told me to read them."
"I've reconsidered."
I laughed.
Then she said, "Come home."
"I can't yet."
"Why?"
Because for the first time in my adult life, I wasn't sure where home was.
"I need a few days."
That evening, Luca invited me to dinner at his father's restaurant.
No cameras.
No influencers.
Six tables.
The same kitchen I'd written about years earlier.
His father, Antonio, came from behind the stove when he saw me.
He was seventy now.
Smaller than I remembered.
He held both my hands.
"Claire."
He remembered.
Not Ethan.
Me.
"You made people come here," he said. "But you wrote about my mother."
My eyes burned.
Antonio disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a framed copy of my article.
My name was highlighted beneath the title.
I cried.
Finally.
Not because Ethan cheated.
Not because the wedding was gone.
Because somewhere along the way, I had allowed someone to convince me that my name didn't matter.
Antonio had kept it on his wall for five years.
Later, I sat alone on the terrace.
Julian arrived unexpectedly.
"Luca invited me."
"Luca has boundary issues."
"He does."
Julian sat opposite me.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he noticed my eyes.
"Bad night?"
"Good one."
He nodded as though that made sense.
I told him about Antonio.
About the framed article.
About how stupid it felt to cry over a byline.
"It isn't stupid."
"It feels stupid."
"Names matter when someone has spent years removing yours."
I looked at him.
There was no pity in his face.
I liked that.
Dangerously.
"Don't become my rebound," I said.
Julian nearly choked on his wine.
"I wasn't aware I'd applied."
"You were thinking about it."
"That's a fairly aggressive assumption."
"Was I wrong?"
He considered.
"No."
I smiled despite myself.
"But," he added, "I'm not interested in being the man who rescues you from Ethan."
"Good."
"You seem capable of rescuing yourself."
"Better."
"Also, you're still technically my company's litigation problem."
I laughed.
"Romantic."
"I have terrible timing."
For the first time since arriving in Italy, the future felt almost light.
Then my phone rang.
Mara.
"Claire, we found where the missing money went."
My smile disappeared.
"What missing money?"
"Three-point-two million dollars transferred out of Harbor & Table over thirty-one months."
I stood.
"To Meredith?"
"No."
"Then where?"
Mara hesitated.
"To a company registered in Delaware."
"Whose?"
"We just unsealed the ownership."
I waited.
"It's Ethan's."
I closed my eyes.
But Mara wasn't finished.
"And Claire?"
"Yes?"
"Your name is on the incorporation documents."
My blood went cold.
"I've never heard of the company."
"I know."
May you like
"Then how—"
"Your signature was forged again."
