Chapter 4

"Mom, open the door. I have nowhere else to go."

The door opened slightly.

My mother, Helen, stood there in an apron, her hands covered in flour. She frowned the moment she saw me.

The wine stains on my dress had dried hard, one of my heels was broken, and my hair was a complete mess.

"Chloe, what happened to you?"

"Ethan locked me out. He froze my bank account."

"I know. He called me last night. He said you tried to divorce him in front of everyone at your reunion."

She sighed and stepped aside to let me in.

Pasta was boiling in the kitchen. The smell made my stomach growl.

"He lied to me for three years, Mom. He’s not allergic to alcohol. He’s been drinking this whole time, and he opened a wine cellar with Hailey."

"Chloe, not this again."

My mom put down her spoon.

"Ever since your first year of marriage, you’ve always suspected Ethan. He didn't even dare to hire a young female assistant because of you. What more do you want?"

"I have proof. Proof of his affair."

"Are you sure you didn't fake it? Could it be someone else's account?"

"Mom, the password is his birthday plus my initials. He set it himself."

My mom went silent for a few seconds. She pulled out her phone and opened a chat.

It was her chat log with Ethan.

The latest message was from early this morning:

"Helen, Chloe might be having some mental issues. She keeps hallucinating that I’m cheating on her. I’ve contacted some specialists. If she comes to you, please keep her calm. Don't trigger her."

My mom put her phone away, her gaze turning cautious and pitying.

"Chloe, maybe you should see a doctor?"

"I am not sick."

"Ethan wouldn't hurt you. He said he’s willing to pay for the best doctors. Once you're cured, you two can go back to normal."

He hadn't just fooled me. He had fooled my mother, and he had paved every single road ahead of time.

As long as I claimed he had a problem, the entire world would think I was the one who had gone insane.

"Mom, I’m leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't worry. I won't be a burden to you."

As I stepped out of the house, my mother's voice drifted from behind me.

"Chloe, if you change your mind, come back. Ethan said he’s always ready to welcome you home."

I had twenty-five dollars in my pocket. My phone was at 32% battery. My bank cards were frozen.

I sat on a park bench for a long time.

While rummaging through my wallet, my fingers brushed against a hard card.

It wasn't a credit card.

It was a business card.

"Julian Vance. Master Sommelier. President of the Sommelier Association."

On the back was a handwritten note: "Chloe, whenever you want to come back, there will always be a place for you here."

Four years ago, on the day I decided to pull out of the Master Sommelier trials, Julian had chased me to the campus gates and shoved this card into my hand.

I told him I was getting married, that my husband was allergic to alcohol, and that I couldn't be in this industry anymore.

He had stood there looking at me for a long time. He didn't tell me not to get married, nor did he say it was a waste.

He only said: "Keep the card."

The address on the card was less than a mile away from me.

My broken heel made me limp with every step.

At the end of the street, there was a dark mahogany door with a brass plaque: "Vance’s Decanter."

I pushed the door open. Wine racks stretched from the floor to the ceiling, with warm lights illuminating rows of bottles.

Behind the bar sat a silver-haired man, carefully polishing a decanter.

He looked up. His eyes behind his glasses locked onto my face.

"Chloe?"

Julian took off his glasses, put down the cloth, and walked over to me.

"I’ve been waiting for you. For three years and seven months."