Chapter 4

His friend pressed him. "What about the prenup? She gets nothing if you initiate the divorce, right?"

"Exactly," Easton confirmed. "It' s ironclad. She won' t cause any trouble. She' s not that type."

I had thought the prenup was a formality, a sign of his practicality. Now I saw it for what it was: a cage designed to ensure I would leave with nothing when he was done with me. The kindness, the protection, the thoughtful gifts-it was all part of the act. He wasn't protecting me; he was protecting his asset until he was ready to discard it.

My marriage was a lie. A five-year-long, meticulously crafted deception. And I had fallen for it completely.

Standing there, outside his study, a cold resolve settled over me. I would not play his game anymore.

In the weeks that followed, Easton was barely home. He was always with Kelly. Her Instagram was a daily assault, a constant stream of photos of them together-at exclusive restaurants, on private jets, at lavish parties. She was always clinging to him, her smile a triumphant smirk aimed directly at me. She even tagged me in a few of the posts, a deliberate, public twisting of the knife.

The pain eventually faded into a dull, hollow numbness. I started packing my things, sorting through the remnants of my life with him. In the back of his closet, I found a stack of boxes. They were the gifts I' d given him over the years-for his birthday, for Christmas, for our anniversaries.

Not a single one had been opened.

I ran my hand over a box containing a custom-made watch, one I' d spent months saving for and designing with a niche horologist I knew he admired. He' d given me a polite smile when I' d handed it to him, then it had disappeared, apparently into this graveyard of my affection.

I couldn' t even cry. The well of my tears had run dry. All I felt was a vast, empty coldness.

That' s when he called, his voice cheerful, oblivious.

"Brooke, Kelly' s having a small get-together tonight. I need you to be there."

"I don' t think that' s a good idea, Easton," I said, my voice flat. "Kelly and I don' t get along."

His tone hardened instantly. "I' m not asking, I' m telling you. It' s important. Be ready in an hour."

He didn' t care about me. He only wanted me there to serve some purpose for Kelly, to be a prop in their twisted drama.

"Fine," I said, a bitter smile on my lips. Let them have their final show.

He sent a driver. When I arrived at Kelly' s penthouse, the party was in full swing. The moment I walked in, the music seemed to dip, the conversations faltering. I was the unwelcome specter at their feast.

Kelly greeted me with a fake, saccharine smile. "Brooke! I' m so glad you could make it."

Easton, standing by the bar, barely glanced in my direction. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing at something one of them said. I was an island in a sea of hostile faces.

Kelly picked up a canapé from a silver tray. "Oh, look! Foie gras. You probably don' t get this much where you' re from, do you, Brooke? Is it too rich for your palate?"

Her friends snickered. The air was thick with their condescension. My face went pale, my body rigid with the effort of not reacting.

"That' s enough, Kelly," Easton said from across the room. His voice was sharp, but I knew it wasn't for my sake. He was just protecting his own image, maintaining the facade of a man who defended his wife. An attack on me was an attack on his judgment for marrying me. That' s all it ever was.