Chapter 2

Jocelyn' s trip to Aspen was a blur of meetings and forced smiles. She tried to push the divorce papers to the back of her mind, treating it like a hostile negotiation that could be managed upon her return. Ethan was emotional, she told herself. Her family had pushed him too far. He would cool down.

The trip culminated in a charity gala at a sprawling mountain resort.

As she walked in, she saw them across the room: Wesley Clark, the man from the photographs, the man she' d thought she loved, was laughing with his wife, Stella.

Stella was beautiful, with a warm, genuine smile that reached her eyes. Seeing them together, so clearly happy and in love, didn' t spark the old jealousy Jocelyn expected. Instead, a strange sense of peace washed over her. It was like closing a book she' d been forcing herself to reread for years.

The next day, Stella invited her to her art gallery in town. The space was bright and filled with stunning landscape photography. As they sipped tea, Stella looked at her with a kind, perceptive gaze.

"Wesley told me you and your husband are having a difficult time," Stella said gently.

Jocelyn was taken aback. "He did?"

"He was worried. He discreetly looked into Ethan after you got married, you know. He wanted to make sure you were with a good man." Stella paused, her eyes soft. "And he found that you were. He said Ethan is incredibly talented and, by all accounts, a genuinely decent person who has been devoted to you for a very long time."

Jocelyn felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

"You' ve built an incredible empire, Jocelyn," Stella continued, her voice losing none of its kindness. "But a relationship can' t be a solo performance. You' ll wear him out."

The words hit Jocelyn with the force of a physical blow. Wear him out. Had she done that? She thought of his quiet presence, the meals he' d cook for her that she was often too busy to eat, the way he' d listen patiently to her talk about work, never asking for anything in return. He was just... there. Always there. Until he wasn' t.

A sudden, overwhelming urgency seized her. She had to see him. She had to go back.

"I have to go," she said, standing up abruptly. "Thank you, Stella. For everything."

She rushed out of the gallery, her mind racing. She pulled out her phone and booked the first flight back to New York, a frantic energy propelling her forward. The business of her empire suddenly seemed insignificant. All that mattered was getting home to her husband.