Chapter 3

I stared at the background of Trina's profile picture.

Behind her hung the bespoke abstract canvas I had commissioned for Draven's Manhattan office. He'd mentioned liking the artist once.

I had stood outside a reclusive Tribeca studio in stilettos for four hours in the freezing cold just to secure the piece for him.

Now, I scrolled down.

Trina was a luxury lifestyle influencer with a verified checkmark and a massive following.

The first post featuring Draven was from three years ago. A photo of their intertwined hands. The background was the bleachers of the elite prep school Draven and I attended in Connecticut.

Caption: [Finally with my high school crush!]

That exact spot was where an eighteen-year-old Draven first held my hand, his palms sweating in the autumn air as he nervously promised, "When we're old and gray, we're coming back here together."

Two years ago, mid-August. Our wedding anniversary. Draven had told me he was locked in a hostile takeover negotiation.

Yet, Trina's grid showed him in a casual hoodie, feeding her a late-night street taco in Brooklyn.

Last New Year's Eve. I was hospitalized in a VIP suite at Mount Sinai with a severe, high fever.

In Trina's reel, Draven appeared in the frame, entirely focused on carefully sanitizing and bandaging a tiny paper cut on her finger.

My hands shook.

He never showed his full face in any of her posts. But the bespoke Patek Philippe watch, the custom stitching on his Tom Ford cuffs, the familiar creases of his palm... I couldn't lie to myself even if I wanted to.

I hit refresh. Trina had just posted a new story.

It was a photo of an absurdly revealing Agent Provocateur lace set.

Caption: [Bought this but forgot it! Thank God someone remembered to go back for it. Rewarding him tonight.]

Bile rose in my throat. That was it. That was the "cashmere scarf" Draven had rushed back into the penthouse to grab.

I opened the comments. A follower asked: [Damn, he eats well. You really love him, huh?]

Trina replied: [I asked him today when he first fell for me. He said eight years ago. The first time I bravely confessed. Said I had the brightest eyes he'd ever seen, and he never forgot. Knowing he thought about me all these years makes my heart melt.]

Eight years ago. The night I walked in on them in that hotel bed before my wedding.

I pressed my lips together so hard I tasted copper, but the tears leaked out anyway, hot and silent.

Another story notification popped up. A video this time.

The camera panned over a king-sized luxury bed scattered with red rose petals.

"My followers want to know," Trina purred off-camera, her voice thick with flirtation. "Now that you're thirty, do we have any new plans for our relationship?"

Draven's low, throaty laugh sent a frigid spike through my spine.

"Plans? I want a kid. Give me a baby, will you?"

The camera jostled as the sound of bodies shifting heavily against linen filled the audio.

My fingers were completely numb. I misdialed twice before finally calling Draven's number.

Three rings. He picked up.

"Draven," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Am I still in your future plans?"

A beat of silence. Then, a casual scoff.

"Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

He sighed. "Look, my mother texted me again. She said you had a massive surprise for me. What is it?"

Through the receiver, I heard Trina's muffled, whining whisper.

"Babe, pay attention to me or you're in trouble."

If I hadn't already seen the video, I might have been desperate enough to convince myself it was just some bold assistant.

I looked down into the trash bin, where the shredded pieces of my ultrasound scan now rested.

"Nothing," I said.

There was no surprise. The love I thought we had salvaged, the future we built—it was all gone.

Draven's tone shifted, hardening with defensive annoyance.

"What kind of tantrum is this, Scarlett? I've turned down a dozen European acquisitions just because you get so paranoid when I travel! I'm entertaining a crucial client tonight to secure our future, and you can't even give me room to breathe?"

A tear splashed onto my screen. I let out a dry, broken laugh.

"You're right, Draven," I said, my voice eerily calm.

"I am throwing a tantrum. When you get back to New York, we're getting a divorce."