Chapter 7
Ellie POV
The restaurant was an institution of quiet wealth, the kind of place where an appetizer cost more than my first car.
It was supposed to be neutral ground. Theoretically.
Chloe met me outside. She smoothed the collar of my black dress with a maternal fussiness. It was simple, severe. Mourning clothes for a marriage that was already dead.
"You have the recording device?" she whispered.
"In my purse," I said.
"Get what you need," she said, her hands lingering on my shoulders. "Get out. And for God’s sake, don't let them see you bleed."
I walked inside. The maître d' led me through the hushed dining room to the private room in the back.
They were already there. Marcus. Izzy. Beatrice.
Exhaustion clung to Marcus. There were dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes, but he was impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit. When I walked in, his eyes raked over me. He frowned at the sling on my arm.
"You came," he said.
"Beatrice makes a compelling argument," I said, taking the seat furthest from him.
Izzy was beaming. She reached across the table as if to touch my hand. I pulled back as though she were contagious.
"Ellie, I'm so glad you're here," she said, her voice a confection of false sweetness. "We want this to be amicable. Marcus and I... we want your blessing."
"My blessing?" I laughed. It was a sharp, jagged sound that scraped against my throat. "You're sleeping with my husband. You tried to run me off the road. And you want my blessing?"
"We want peace," Beatrice interjected, her tone clipped and corporate. "The families are talking. They say the Thorne house is in chaos. We need a united front. You will issue a statement saying the separation is mutual and that you support Marcus's new union. In exchange, we release the hold on your design firm's accounts."
It was extortion. A shakedown wrapped in silk.
"I want it in writing," I said. "Release the assets first. Then you get your statement."
Marcus’s palm hit the mahogany with a sharp crack. "You don't get to make demands here, Ellie! You are the one who ran off to Julian Croft. You are the traitor."
"I went to the only person who didn't leave me to drown," I shot back.
"I didn't leave you!" Marcus yelled. "I was protecting Izzy! She's..." He stopped. He looked at Izzy, his expression softening into a pathetic sort of adoration. "She's the future."
Chloe, who had slipped in to sit beside me, tried to diffuse the tension. "Let's just eat. We can sign the papers after dessert."
The dinner was agony. I watched Marcus cut Izzy's steak for her. I watched him refill her wine glass before his own. I watched the way he leaned into her, like she was the only source of gravity in the room.
I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.
"I need some air," I said halfway through the main course.
I stood up before anyone could object and walked out to the terrace. The city lights of New York glittered below, indifferent to my misery.
I leaned against the cold iron railing, forcing air into lungs that felt too small for my chest.
A few minutes later, I heard the glass door slide open. I stiffened, expecting Marcus to come out and finish the argument.
But the voices stopped just inside the doorway, hidden by the heavy velvet curtains.
"You're drinking too much, baby," Izzy's voice cooed.
"I'm celebrating," Marcus slurred. He sounded drunk. "I finally got rid of her. Nine years, Izzy. Nine years I had to pretend."
I froze.
"You didn't pretend that well," Izzy giggled.
"I did what I had to do," Marcus said. His voice dropped, becoming thick with emotion. "I loved you since college, Iz. But my father... he insisted. He said I needed a shield. He said I needed a wife who looked innocent. Someone boring. Someone safe. Ellie was perfect. She was the perfect distraction while I built the empire for us."
The air left my lungs.
"She really thought you loved her," Izzy said, a cruel amusement in her tone.
"She was a tool," Marcus said. "A piece of furniture. I never looked at her the way I look at you. Every time I kissed her, I was wishing it was you. Every anniversary, every birthday... it was all a performance. You are the only real thing in my life."
I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to tear its way out of my throat.
I wasn't just unloved. I wasn't just replaced.
I was a prop.
For nine years, my life had been a lie. Every "I love you," every touch, every moment of comfort—it was all strategic. He had used my body and my loyalty as a shield so he could build a life with her.
I looked down at my recording device. It was running.
I had the truth.
But the truth didn't set me free. It shattered me.
I turned away from the door. I couldn't go back in there. I couldn't look at him.
I climbed over the low partition of the terrace to the service stairs. I ran down the metal steps, my heels clanging like alarm bells, tears blinding me.
I reached the alleyway below. Chloe was waiting by the car with Julian.
"Ellie?" Chloe asked, seeing my face.
"Get me out of here," I choked out. "He never loved me. It was all a lie. All of it."
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