Chapter 3

"You sure are keeping your cool."

My grandfather was sitting in his leather armchair in the study, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, holding today’s newspaper.

The front-page headline screamed: *Vance Group’s Capital Chain Snaps: Debts Exceed $900 Million, CEO Ethan Vance Missing.*

Missing.

But he was literally calling me last night and this morning.

"Grandpa, I'm back."

"I see that. I’m not blind."

He flipped the page of the newspaper without looking up.

"Did you sign it?"

"I signed."

"Did you take the money?"

"No."

His eyes finally lifted from the paper, staring at me from over his glasses.

It was a complex look. Anger, heartbreak, and a hint of something I couldn't quite read.

"You turned down five million dollars. You’re just like your mother—stubbornly proud to a fault."

I didn't say anything.

My mother passed away when I was young, and Grandpa rarely spoke of her. But whenever he did, his tone was harsh, though his eyes always grew red.

"Chloe, do you have any idea how I’ve spent the last three years?"

"I know."

"You think you know everything? Then do you know when the Vance family’s financial sinkhole actually started?"

I shook my head.

He folded the newspaper and set it on the desk.

"Two years ago."

Two years ago.

Ethan and I had only been married for a year.

"The Vance family’s collapse didn't happen overnight. Someone set a trap. Step by step, they strangled their supply chain and poached their clients one by one."

"Who?"

Grandpa looked at me but didn't answer.

"Go get some rest. Some things don't need to be rushed."

I knew his temper. If he didn't want to say it, no amount of asking would make him.

As I walked out of the study and reached the top of the stairs, Thomas was waiting at the bottom.

"Miss Chloe, your room is the third door on the left on the second floor. Just like before."

"Thanks."

"Oh, by the way," he hesitated, "Your grandfather wanted me to let you know that the Sterling family’s legal team will be arriving tomorrow morning."

"Our legal team?"

"He said it’s about your divorce agreement. He wants to review it personally."

I paused on the stairs and looked back at him.

"But I already signed it."

Thomas’s expression was incredibly subtle.

"Your grandfather said... just because you signed it doesn't mean it counts."

I didn't ask further and went up to my room.

The room was indeed exactly the same as it was three years ago. Even the ugly alarm clock on my nightstand hadn't been moved.

I bought that clock in high school. The plastic casing was cracked, held together by scotch tape, but it kept perfect time.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text message from that Serena Hale girl. She couldn't add me on Snapchat, so she went straight to my number.

*Chloe, I know you probably don’t want to talk to anyone associated with Ethan right now. But there are things you should know. The nine hundred million Ethan owes? It wasn't all from bad business deals.*

I stared at the text, my thumb hovering over the screen.

I didn't reply.

I tossed my phone onto the pillow and rolled over.

My stomach felt a bit off. A dull, heavy sensation.

I remembered the two pink lines from this morning.

The pregnancy test was still sitting on the bathroom counter back at the penthouse.

I forgot to pack it.

Just like that five-million-dollar card. I forgot.

Maybe my brain really is a half-beat behind.

I never get stressed when I should, and I don't even know how to feel sad when things go wrong.

I wasn't excited when I married Ethan, and I wasn't heartbroken when I left him.

But I was definitely hungry.

Thomas’s soup hadn't been enough. I wanted more.

I rolled out of bed and padded downstairs to raid the fridge.

It was packed with fresh groceries, as if someone had prepared for my arrival.

I grabbed two eggs, planning to fry them up.

My phone rang again.

This time, it was Ethan.

I cracked an egg into the pan and picked up with one hand.

"Why didn't you take the card?"

"I told you. I forgot."

"Are you back at the Sterling Estate?"

"Yeah."

He went quiet.

"Chloe, did your grandfather..."

"Did my grandfather what?"

"Nothing."

More silence.

The edges of the egg started to sizzle and bubble in the pan.

"Ethan, what are you trying to say?"

"You're pregnant."

My hand holding the spatula froze.

"I saw the test. It was on the bathroom counter."

Hot oil splattered from the pan, burning the back of my hand.

I turned off the stove.

"How far along?"

"I don't know. I haven't been to the doctor yet."

I heard him take a long, deep breath on the other end, like he was trying to suppress a massive wave of emotion.

"The baby is mine."

"Duh."

"Chloe, listen to me—"

"Ethan," I interrupted, "When you handed me that divorce agreement last night, did you know I was pregnant?"

He didn't speak.

"You didn't, right?"

"...Right."

"Well, now you know. What of it?"

"I'm coming to see you."

"For what? You owe nine hundred million dollars. Are you coming over to discuss which preschool we should enroll the kid in?"

He went silent again.

I scooped the slightly burnt egg onto a plate and took a bite.

It was burnt, but still edible.

"Don't come. My brain is slow. I need time to think."

I hung up, chewing on the burnt egg.

serena’s text was still lighting up my phone screen: *The nine hundred million Ethan owes? It wasn't all from bad business deals.*

I stared at it for a moment.

I swallowed the egg, my throat feeling dry.

I tapped her message and hit reply.

*Then what was it?*

She replied almost instantly.

*He was set up.*

*And the person who set the trap is someone you'd never expect.*

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