The next morning, she felt a sharp pain with every step she took.
Chloe found Julian in the main dressing room, where he was tying a silk tie in front of the mirror. Rows of custom-made suits lined the walls like an army.
He saw her in his reflection, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Wake up?"
"We need to talk about divorce."
He chuckled, a brief, unfunny laugh. "Let's be realistic. Without me, you couldn't afford a studio in this city. What have you been doing for the past five years? Flower arranging? Attending charity luncheons?"
Every word felt like a slap in Chloe's face. Chloe's hands trembled. "I gave up my PhD from Columbia University and my career as Christie's youngest chief auctioneer. What do you think I was doing before you showed up?"
His sneer remained unchanged. "I thought you were smart enough to know which side to stand on."
"I was at the hospital yesterday—"
The door was suddenly pushed open. Seven-year-old Stella ran in crying, clutching a limited-edition doll tightly in her arms; the doll's porcelain arm was broken.
"dad!"
Julian's expression changed abruptly. Without turning around, he pushed Chloe aside and knelt before his daughter. "What's wrong, Princess?"
" Daddy! My arm is broken, Daddy, please fix it for me! " Stella cried .
" Chloe , I have to go to the company. You stay and keep the Strauss doll company," Julian instructed without turning his head.
Chloe was still weak from surgery, and the push made her sway, a wave of dizziness washing over her. "Julian, I don't feel well. I can't help you with the baby. I need to rest."
He didn't even look up. "For God's sake, can't you stop being jealous of a child for five minutes?" He scooped Stella up in his arms, turned, and left, his face full of anger. "I'll wire you 100,000. Go to Bali. Go to Paris. Stop messing around."
“I don’t want your money,” Chloe said, her voice trembling. “I just want you to listen to me.”
“I’ve had enough.” He straightened his coat, his eyes icy. “You’re utterly humiliating yourself.”
Stella peeked out from behind his legs, her eyes filled with childlike hostility. "You're such a bad woman. You didn't take me to Central Park yesterday like you promised."
Chloe stared at the child she had read to, comforted, and bandaged for five years. A chill ran through her bones.
At that moment, a memory surfaced—an email from a former Sotheby's colleague, a gentle invitation to return to the company. She had ignored it then. But now, this email felt like a priceless treasure.
Julian gave her one last look. "Think about who you are, Chloe. Don't do anything you'll regret."
He took Stella's hand and led her out. The door clicked shut.
The silence was suffocating. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen, and she clung tightly to the wardrobe to keep her balance. The comfort of this life—ease, luxury—was tempting her. But the longing for a meaningful life was even stronger.
A loud bang came from the living room.
She went outside and found that Stella had deliberately knocked over a pot of orchids—Chloe's favorite orchids—the porcelain shattering on the white carpet. Mrs. Gabby hurried to clean it up, glancing nervously at Chloe.
Chloe understood now. Everyone in this house treated her like an outsider, a high-ranking employee.
She didn't react, and turned to walk into the study.
The black American Express card was still lying on the glass table. She picked it up and tossed it into the corner of the mahogany desk. A silent rejection.
A sharp pain shot through her, and cold sweat instantly broke out. She looked around—priceless works of art, first editions, stark perfection. This was a museum, not home.
Her gaze fell on the bottom drawer of the desk. Her drawer.
She pulled it open. Beneath the old art journal, her fingers touched smooth, worn wood.
That was an auction gavel.
She picked it up, her palm resting perfectly on the handle. She stroked the faint scratches on it, each scratch carrying a memory—the thrill of record-breaking bids, the breathless anticipation, the crisp sound of the hammer falling.
She wanted to do it again.
Julian's words echoed: You can't live a single day without me.
They've now been turned into fuel. Armor.
Her gaze fell on the dinner invitation on the table. She picked it up, walked to the shredder, and put it in. The machine roared throughout the room.
With the disappearance of the invitation, Mrs. Julian Carlyle also disappeared.
She straightened up; the gavel in her hand was still warm.
I am Chloe Hayes.
