Chapter 10
The silence in the kitchen was unbearable.
Ethan didn't take the words back. His jaw remained set, his dark eyes burning into mine with an honesty that was utterly terrifying.
“I didn't marry you for the shares, Claire,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I used the shares as an excuse to marry you. Because I was too much of a coward to tell you that ever since high school, you were the only person who made me feel human.”
A tear slid down my cheek, dropping onto his thumb.
“You investigated me, Ethan,” I whispered back. “You kept tabs on my shop. You knew about my debts.”
“Because I wanted an excuse to step into your life without scaring you away!” he pleaded. “If I had walked into your shop six months ago and told you I had been in love with you for fourteen years, you would have called building security! I gave you an arrangement because I knew you were too proud to accept help, and too stubborn to entertain a billionaire who had ignored you for a decade.”
I looked down at the letter in my hands.
The legacy of my mother. The tragedy on the Hudson. The hidden guilt of the Whitmore dynasty.
Everything had been built on a foundation of secrets. And while Ethan’s love felt real—blindingly, agonizingly real—the ground beneath us was made of glass.
“I need time, Ethan,” I said quietly, gently pulling his hands away from my face.
Panic flashed behind his eyes. “Claire, don’t leave. We can fix this. Wild June is being rebuilt—I hired the best contractors in the city at dawn—”
“Stop using your money to solve problems between us,” I interrupted softly. “That's how your father operates. That's how Victoria operates. If we are going to be real... you have to let me breathe on my own terms.”
Ethan looked at me for a long, agonizing moment. Slowly, he dropped his arms to his sides.
“Okay,” he said, his voice raw. “Take whatever you need. But I'm not letting you go. Not anymore.”
Two hours later, I walked out of the penthouse, carrying only a small duffel bag with my clothes and my mother’s journal.
Down on the street, Manhattan was humming with its usual indifferent roar. Taxis honked, commuters hurried past, and the morning sky had turned a crisp, autumnal blue.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It wasn't Ethan. It wasn't Mia.
It was an encrypted email from an unlisted server, containing a single video attachment and a short message:
*Look at the police report from the Hudson River accident, Claire. Thomas Whitmore lied to protect his son. Your mother didn't save his life. She was running from him.*
*And Ethan knows what really happened to her.*
May you like
My breath caught in my throat as my fingers hovered over the play button.
I looked back up toward the glass tower soaring into the Manhattan clouds, wondering if the man who had just stolen my heart was my protector—or the final architect of my family's ruin.
