Chapter 2

"Chloe, Ethan asked me to collect your things."

A man in a black suit was standing at the door, wearing a Vance Family driver’s ID badge. He was holding two empty suitcases.

I leaned against the doorframe and glanced at him.

"What things?"

"Ethan said you need to move your personal belongings out by the end of the day."

I looked down at the second mandarin orange I was halfway through peeling.

We signed the papers last night, and the movers were already here before nine this morning.

Talk about efficiency.

"I don't need the suitcases. I don't have anything to pack."

The driver blinked, clearly caught off guard by how chill I was about being thrown out.

He peeked past me into the ten-thousand-square-foot penthouse. It was packed with designer furniture and expensive decor. None of it belonged to me.

Three years ago, when I walked through those doors, I had nothing but the clothes on my back.

I was leaving the exact same way.

I stuffed the orange into my coat pocket, slipped into a pair of flats, grabbed my phone, and walked out.

The driver hesitated as he followed me.

"Chloe... that card... Ethan said you took it?"

"It’s on the coffee table."

He stopped in his tracks.

"You didn't take it?"

"Forgot."

I didn't actually forget. I was just too lazy to take it.

To him, that five million was his final shred of dignity.

To me, it was just a number.

As the elevator descended, my phone buzzed.

Caller ID: Ethan Vance.

I stared at the screen for two seconds and let it ring.

The scent of orange peel was still on my fingertips. A little sour.

When the elevator hit the underground garage, the white Porsche he had bought me was still parked in its designated spot.

I hadn't brought the car keys either.

I hailed an Uber.

When the driver asked where to, I thought about it.

"The Sterling Estate, East Side."

On the way, my phone rang three more times, all from Ethan.

On the fourth time, I finally picked up.

"Why didn't you take the card?"

His voice was raspier than last night, sounding like he hadn't slept a wink.

"Forgot."

"Chloe, five million is the last thing I can give—"

"I know."

Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

Another silence.

Then, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the buildings flashing past the window.

"Ethan, you wiped my sticky fingers dry before making me sign those papers. I’ll remember that."

"It was classy."

"Thanks."

I hung up.

The Uber driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, probably thinking I was a weird passenger.

Just got kicked out of my house, yet I was chatting like I was talking about the weather.

When I arrived at the gates of the Sterling Estate, I paid the driver and got out.

Standing at the entrance, I looked up at the massive iron gates.

I hadn't been back in three years. The climbing ivy on the pillars looked exactly the same.

I pressed the buzzer.

Thomas, our butler, opened the gate. He was in his sixties and had worked for the Sterling family for thirty years.

The moment he saw me, his expression went from polite professional to pure shock, and then to a deep, heartbreaking pity.

"Miss Chloe."

"Thomas, I'm home."

He looked behind me. Nothing. No car, no luggage, no entourage.

"Just you?"

"Just me."

He didn't ask any questions. He just stepped aside to let me in.

I slipped into a pair of slippers and walked into the living room.

Nothing had changed. The velvet sofa was still there, and my late mother’s favorite orchid was still sitting on the coffee table.

Thomas brought over a cup of warm tea.

"Your grandfather is in the study. Shall I inform him?"

"No need."

I held the warm mug and sat on the sofa, not rushing to see my grandfather.

Thomas stood by my side for a moment, unable to help himself.

"Miss Chloe... is it the Vance family...?"

"Yeah. We’re divorced."

His lips twitched, but he swallowed whatever he was about to say.

He turned toward the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup.

It had a perfectly poached egg in it, topped with finely chopped green onions.

It looked almost identical to the ramen I had made for Ethan three years ago.

I looked at the bowl and suddenly wanted to laugh.

Three years ago, I dragged a guy home, made him some food, and married him.

Three years later, the guy is gone, but the warm food is still here.

I took two bites when my phone vibrated.

It wasn't Ethan.

It was a Snapchat friend request from an unknown account.

The add message read: *Hi Chloe, I’m Serena Hale, a close friend of Ethan's. Can we talk?*

I stared at the name for a few seconds.

Ethan’s friend.

In our three years of marriage, he had never mentioned this name once.

I tossed my phone face-down on the table and went back to my soup.

The soup got cold, and the broth tasted a little too salty.

Thomas poked his head out of the kitchen.

"Is it good, Miss Chloe?"

"It’s great, Thomas. I might need to stay here for a while."

"Your room is always ready. I just aired out the sheets yesterday."

I froze, holding my spoon.

"Yesterday?"

Thomas didn't say another word. He just turned and vanished back into the kitchen.

Yesterday. He aired out my sheets yesterday.

It was as if someone had told him beforehand that I would be coming back today.

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