Chapter 2

Claire Costa POV:

I fled. I didn' t say a word, just turned and walked away, my movements stiff and robotic. I could feel their eyes on my back, but I didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.

I locked myself in the master bathroom, the one with floor-to-ceiling marble and a mirror that spanned an entire wall. I stared at my reflection. The woman looking back was a stranger. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a horror so profound it felt like it was consuming her from the inside out. This was Claire Costa Callahan. A successful photographer. A loving wife. A complete and utter fool.

My gaze fell on the lacquered box on the vanity. Elliot-the real Elliot-had given it to me. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a document. A postnuptial agreement.

I remembered the day he gave it to me, a few weeks after our wedding. We were in this very room. He had just stepped out of the shower, water droplets clinging to his broad shoulders.

"This is for you," he' d said, his voice soft. He handed me the document, already signed with his elegant, looping signature. "It's a guarantee, Claire. To show you that this," he gestured between us, "is forever. It states that in the event of a divorce, fifty percent of my personal assets, including this penthouse, become yours. But you'll never need it."

I had laughed, pushing it back towards him. "I don't want this, Elliot. I want you."

He had insisted, closing my fingers around the heavy paper. "I know. But I want you to have it. As a symbol of my commitment."

Commitment. The word was a bitter poison on my tongue.

I remembered how safe I had felt with him. He was my anchor. When Killian' s obsessive texts and calls started again after a brief period of silence years ago, Elliot had been the one to handle it. He' d calmly changed my number, blocked Killian on every platform, and assured me I' d never have to deal with his brother's darkness again.

After the assault on my eighteenth birthday, when I was plagued by nightmares and a paralyzing fear, Elliot was the one who held me. He' d stayed up all night, reading to me until my trembling subsided. He was the one who convinced me to see a therapist, who patiently helped me piece myself back together.

He threw me the most beautiful wedding New York had ever seen, a fairy tale of white roses and shimmering crystal. Standing at the altar, he' d looked into my eyes and promised to love and protect me for the rest of our lives.

I had believed him. I had believed every single word. Because he was Elliot. My gentle, proper, loving Elliot.

Now, I looked at the signature on the postnuptial agreement. Elliot Callahan. A name that now represented not a promise, but a price tag. This wasn't a symbol of commitment. It was his get-out-of-jail-free card. It was hush money, paid in advance, for a betrayal so deep it had hollowed me out completely.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I stumbled to the toilet, my body convulsing as I dry-heaved, but there was nothing inside me left to expel. Only a cold, gaping void.

My tears finally came, hot and silent, tracing paths down my frozen cheeks. But they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of rage.

I stood up, my reflection a pale ghost in the mirror. With a newfound, chilling clarity, I walked back to the vanity. I picked up the heavy, gold-plated pen beside the box. My hand was shaking, but my signature was firm. Claire Costa. I didn't add his name.

I carefully folded the document, my movements precise and deliberate. I packed a small bag, just the essentials. My cameras. My portfolio. A few changes of clothes.

Just as I was zipping the bag, the bedroom door opened. It was Elliot. The real one.

"Claire?" he said, his voice holding that familiar, feigned gentleness. "What are you doing? Everyone is waiting downstairs."

I quickly shoved the signed agreement under a pile of clothes in my suitcase, my back to him. "I'm not feeling well."

"I've got a surprise for you," he said, walking closer. "It will make you feel better, I promise." He took my hand, his touch now feeling alien and repulsive. "Come on."

He led me back to the party. The crowd had gathered in the center of the room. Killian was there, a smug look on his face, with Kassie Kent clinging to his arm.

"Killian is back," Elliot announced to the room, his arm around my shoulders. "He's decided to turn over a new leaf. And he's brought a lovely girl with him."

Killian stepped forward, that predatory grin back on his face. "Sorry for all the trouble I caused in the past, everyone. Especially you, Claire." The apology was a performance, a mockery. "Allow me to introduce my girlfriend, Kassie Kent."

Kassie preened, her eyes, sharp and venomous, fixed on me. "Claire, it's so lovely to finally meet you properly. I've heard so much about you." Her voice was sickly sweet, a deliberate provocation.

I recognized her now. Kassie Kent. Elliot's ambitious former assistant. I remembered the crisis with his mentor, a scandal that nearly torpedoed a major Callahan deal. Kassie's father, a powerful lawyer, had stepped in and made it disappear. Elliot had been indebted to them.

It all clicked into place. The swap. The lies. Elliot hadn't chosen me out of love. He had chosen me as a placeholder, a beautiful prop for his perfect life, while he fulfilled his "obligation" to the woman he truly wanted.

"You disgust me," I whispered, the words tearing from my raw throat. I looked at Elliot, my eyes pleading for him to deny it, to show a single shred of the man I thought I knew.

"Claire, don't make a scene," he said, his voice low and warning. His grip on my shoulder tightened, a silent threat. He was protecting her. He had always been protecting her.

My heart, which I thought had already been shattered, broke all over again. The hope I had clung to, the tiny, foolish belief that there had been some love, some truth, disintegrated into dust. He looked at Kassie with a tenderness he had only ever faked with me.

Just then, the main lights in the hall dimmed, and a spotlight hit the small stage at the far end of the room. A string quartet began to play. The surprise.

In the sudden darkness and confusion, I spun away from Elliot's grasp. This was my chance. I ran.

"Claire!"

A hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a vice-like grip. I was yanked back against a hard chest.

The familiar, cloying scent of sandalwood and something wild, something dangerous, filled my senses. It was the scent he wore. The man I had shared a bed with for three years.

Killian.

His voice, a low and possessive growl that was nothing like Elliot's, vibrated against my ear. "Where do you think you're going, sister-in-law?"