Lucian left me on Raven Street.
Four years ago, outside the church, he had taken my hand and said, "As long as I am breathing, you will never face danger alone."
I believed him then without question.
Now, amid cameras and chaos, he had taken Clara and left me behind.
I leaned against the wall until I could stand. By the time I returned, blood had seeped through my torn dress. Cold air slipped through the rip in the fabric, and every step hurt.
I sat in the dark living room and watched the Long Island sea through the windows.
Near midnight, the front door opened and Lucian came home. He saw the blood on my back. His face changed at once. "Evelyn, how did you get hurt?"
He crossed the room and snapped at the butler, "My wife is injured, and no one called me? Bring the medical kit. Call the doctor now."
I watched the tightness in his face and almost laughed. So he could still worry about me. He was just always too late.
"I called you," I said.
Lucian froze. "What?"
"Outside the clinic. I called you. Did you hear me?"
"It was too chaotic. I might not have heard." He placed his hands on my shoulders. "I'm sorry. I will handle the press, and we are done with Raven Street. Evelyn, let's stop fighting, all right?"
I looked at him for a long time. Then I nodded. "All right."
He seemed relieved, as if this would end like every other fight, with an apology from him and me leaning back into his arms.
But from that day on, I stopped arguing and asking questions.
I began packing the estate. My gowns went to auction. The wedding albums went into the fireplace. One by one, the things I had once treated as proof of love disappeared from the house.
Lucian was busy with Clara's debt scandal and noticed nothing.
A few days later, Valerie came to see me in a hurry. "Madam, there is a problem with your trust account."
She placed the statement in front of me. "A large sum was transferred out last week from the trust Mr. Moretti left you. The authorization came through Mr. DeLuca's office. The recipient was Clara Voss."
My fingers stiffened.
That trust was the last safety net my grandfather had left me. Before he died, he had written the terms himself. No matter whom I married, a Moretti daughter would never be left without a way out.
Lucian knew what that money meant to me.
How dared he?
I opened the statement. The expenses were listed: the clinic renovation balance, moving costs for the Voss family, the first year's security on the Bell Harbor townhouse, a private hotel suite, several luxury charges, and a few items so intimate they made my stomach twist.
That was my grandfather's money, and Lucian had used it to pave another woman's road and settle her family.
Maybe he did not love her. Maybe he only favored her.
Sometimes favoritism is worse than betrayal.
I closed the statement, my nails digging half-moons into my palm. "Sue her."
Valerie blinked. "Madam?"
"Recover all of it. Principal, interest, punitive damages. Not one cent less."
"What about Mr. DeLuca?"
"He signed the divorce papers. He just doesn't know it yet."
The next day, I went to Fifth Avenue to choose gifts for my father. He still refused to see me, but I wanted to bring something home. After I picked out antique cuff links and a handmade watch, Lucian called.
"Evelyn, you had your lawyer sue Clara and demand ten times the amount?"
"I'm taking back my own money. What is the problem?"
"The problem is that the moment your lawyer filed, debt collectors smashed up her clinic and splashed red paint on the door. Clara is missing, and her family is terrified. She saved my life. I can't let her be destroyed because of our fight."
"Our fight? Lucian, that money was from my grandfather. What right did you have to use it on her?"
"You wrecked her old clinic. I was making amends for you."
"With my money?"
His voice had cooled. "You were not this vicious before. You know what Clara did for me. You know I owe her."
"And me?" I asked. "What you owe me can be spent on her?"
Something inside me went quiet.
"Lucian, let's divorce."
After a long while, he asked, "Are you threatening me with divorce again?"
"It is not a threat. It is a notice."
That hit a nerve.
"Fine. If leaving me is so easy, take a few days to cool down. When you are ready to think straight, we will talk."
The call ended.
Minutes later, the sales associate returned with my black card, embarrassment tightening her smile. "I'm sorry, Mrs. DeLuca. This card has been frozen."
I handed over another.
Frozen.
A third, a fourth, all the same.
The associate's courtesy slowly turned into suspicion. "Madam, the items have already been wrapped. The total is four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. If you cannot pay, we will need to notify store security."
