Chapter 3
The week in the Hamptons passed like a dream—or perhaps a gentle hallucination. Ethan and I barely spoke about what had happened, as if discussing it might shatter whatever strange spell had been cast over us. He was unfailingly kind, giving me space when I needed it and quiet company when the silence became too loud with my thoughts.
When we returned to Manhattan, I braced myself for reality to come crashing back. What would I tell people? Where would I go? My apartment had been Mark's apartment—I'd moved in with him years ago, sacrificing my own space just as I'd sacrificed so much else.
"I've arranged for your things," Ethan said as our car pulled up to an elegant building in Tribeca. Not Mark's building. Not my old building.
"My things?" I echoed, following him through a lobby where the doorman greeted Ethan by name.
The elevator required a key card, which Ethan produced from his wallet. We ascended in silence, my stomach knotting with each floor we passed.
When the doors opened, they revealed not a hallway but a private foyer. Ethan stepped aside, allowing me to enter first.
"What is this?" I whispered, taking in the soaring ceilings, the wall of windows overlooking the city, the tasteful furniture that somehow matched my aesthetic perfectly.
"Your belongings are here," he said simply, gesturing toward the bedroom. "Everything was moved while we were away."
I walked through the space in a daze. My clothes hung in the closet. My books lined the shelves. Even my sketchbooks were arranged neatly on a desk by the window—a perfect spot for drawing, with natural light streaming in.
"This is your place," I said, turning to face him. It wasn't a question.
"It's yours for as long as you need it." He remained by the elevator, hands in his pockets. "Rent-free. No strings attached."
"Why?" The question that had been burning inside me for days finally erupted. "Why are you doing all this? Who are you, really?"
His expression remained unreadable. "I told you—we can have the marriage annulled whenever you want."
"That's not what I asked." I crossed the room toward him, newfound anger giving me courage. "You show up at my wedding, marry me on the spot, whisk me away to the Hamptons, and now you've moved me into what I'm guessing is a multi-million dollar penthouse. Normal people don't do that for strangers."
Something flickered in his eyes—pain? Amusement? I couldn't tell.
"Let's just say I work in my family's business," he said carefully. "And I have the means to help you."
"That's not an answer." I followed him as he walked toward what appeared to be a library.
"It's all I can give you right now." He turned, his gaze softening. "Trust takes time, Olivia. I'm asking for yours."
I wanted to press further, but something in his expression stopped me. Whatever his secrets, he wasn't ready to share them. And I had more immediate concerns—like finding a job.
The next morning, I dressed in my most professional outfit and headed to Hayes & Partners Architecture. It was a long shot—they were one of the most prestigious firms in the city—but I needed to start rebuilding my life somewhere.
The receptionist directed me to the thirtieth floor, where Eleanor Hayes herself was conducting interviews. My heart hammered as I waited, flipping through my portfolio. Seven years out of practice. Seven years supporting Mark's dreams instead of pursuing my own.
"Ms. Bennett?" A sleek woman in her fifties appeared in the doorway. "I'm Eleanor Hayes."
Her office was a testament to modern design—clean lines, strategic lighting, a view that made my breath catch. I tried not to stare as I took the seat she offered.
"Your resume is... interesting," she said, scanning it. "Top of your class at Columbia, then a significant gap."
"I took time away from the field," I admitted. "But architecture has always been my passion."
She nodded, expression neutral. "Show me."
I opened my portfolio, explaining each project, ending with my most recent sketches—designs for affordable community housing that I'd worked on secretly during the long nights when Mark was "working late."
Eleanor studied them in silence, her finger tracing the lines of my most ambitious design. Then she looked up, her eyes sharp and assessing.
"Senior designer position. You start Monday."
I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "I'm sorry?"
"Unless you'd prefer a different title?" A hint of a smile played at her lips.
"No, I—that's more than I expected."
"Talent often is." She stood, extending her hand. "Welcome to Hayes & Partners, Ms. Bennett."
As I left the building, dizzy with disbelief, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. First Ethan's inexplicable generosity, and now this dream job falling into my lap?
I paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the towering skyscraper. What were the odds that everything would fall into place so perfectly after my life had shattered? And why couldn't I shake the feeling that Ethan Blackwood somehow knew far more about me than he was letting on?
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