Take it slow. What a joke.
From start to finish, the only person in his heart was Lucy Stephens.
If he was so in love with Lucy, why had he agreed to the marriage in the first place?
When Matriarch Farley proposed the alliance, I hadn't accepted right away. I'd asked my grandmother to send someone to get Sylvester's answer.
The messenger came back with a simple response: "Mr. Farley has agreed."
It wasn't until later that I learned the truth. The day he nodded yes was the same day the news broke that Lucy had died in a car accident in Continental Heights.
But Lucy hadn't died.
She'd defected to the Henson family's competitors. Then she and Sylvester worked together, one from the inside and one from the outside, and dismantled Henson Corp piece by piece.
The shock gave my grandmother a stroke. But Sylvester didn't come out unscathed either.
Lucy, eager to prove her loyalty to her new backers, personally orchestrated my death.
Before I died, all I'd wanted was one honest word from him. Just one.
As for now, I stared at the closed door in front of me.
And suddenly, none of it mattered anymore.
Sylvester Farley was the prettiest blade in Matriarch Farley's arsenal. Good breeding, stunning looks, formidable ability.
But that blade had never been drawn for me.
I smiled faintly, turned around, and walked away.
Better to go drink. Find some real fun. At least the smiles on those people's faces were genuine in their desire to please me.
What I didn't see was that shortly after I left, the light behind that door flickered back on.
Sylvester sat alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He stared out at the Graystone skyline and didn't move until dawn.
In the morning, the housekeeper pushed the door open to tidy the room and found him in the exact same position as the night before. The man nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Mr. Farley? You haven't slept all night?"
Sylvester looked terrible. Dark circles carved deep bruises beneath his eyes.
His voice came out raw and wrecked: "Where did she go last night?"
News of me walking out on my wedding night spread through our circles before the sun came up.
"No way. She doesn't even want Sylvester Farley? Is Rose Henson out of her mind?"
"Who knows? I heard she threw money around at The Blue Note Club all night just to boost some new pretty boy's sales numbers."
"That's not even the half of it. She camped out in a VIP room until three in the morning and came out draped over a bunch of guys. Laughing like she'd just buried her husband."
"Rose Henson's life is literally my dream."
What other people said was none of my concern.
All I wanted this time around was to live however the hell I pleased.
My assistant Brett Dickerson tracked me down with a pained expression.
"Ma'am, shouldn't we head back? Mr. Farley's office has called multiple times already!"
"Head back for what?"
I cut him off, leaning against the bar and swirling my glass.
"Go book me the penthouse suite."
"A-another booking?" Brett looked like he was about to cry.
"Yep. I'm throwing a party tonight."
I shooed Brett away, then turned and dove back into the club's dance floor.
The music was deafening. The alcohol made everything numb. Perfect.
I kept this up for three days before something clicked.
I needed a divorce.
Dragging it out was pointless. Better to cut things off while Lucy was still overseas, before I got tangled up in all that ugliness again.
I drove straight to Matriarch Farley's lakeside estate.
The car rolled down a long, tree-lined drive and stopped at the front entrance of the main house.
The housekeeper spotted me and dipped his head respectfully. "Miss Henson, the Matriarch is in the conservatory."
I walked into the greenhouse. Bertha Farley stood among her prized blue roses, pruning shears in hand, tending to them with the care of a woman who controlled everything she touched.
She looked up when she saw me, a warm smile settling across her face. "Rose, dear. Sylvester didn't come with you?"
I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Matriarch Farley, I want a divorce from Sylvester."
Snip.
A single rose tumbled to the floor.
