I tucked the divorce agreement into the bottom of my vanity drawer, clinging to the sliver of hope that I was wrong about him.
After all, Liliana was married. But fate had a cruel sense of humor. Liliana's marriage was a nightmare.
Two months ago, Cillian had used his family’s influence to extract her from that disastrous marriage, even bringing her back to New York to start a new life.
Now, he wanted her living in our home.
I was in the middle of reviewing my assets when they walked in.
My father had provided a generous dowry when I married Cillian. Now, I needed to liquidate it to fund his legal battle.
I switched off my phone and rose to my feet as Cillian entered the room.
He announced, "Liliana wants this room. You'll move."
After we married, he began spending his nights in the study. He claimed he didn't want to disturb my rest, so he had me move from the master suite—the room that symbolized my place as the lady of this house.
This room was the one closest to his. Its balcony, which he’d filled with white roses planted by his own hand, overlooked the terrace where the swing from our honeymoon still sat.
Liliana peeked out from behind him, a triumphant glint in her eyes as she surveyed the room.
I looked up at him and, for the first time, refused. "No. The estate is enormous. There are plenty of other rooms. Why must it be this one?"
Liliana’s lip trembled as she tugged on his sleeve.
A pained look crossed Cillian's face before it hardened. He retorted coldly, "Because Liliana likes it. These white roses... they were always for her."
The cold truth struck me like a physical blow. Liliana was satisfied, her smile as radiant as the roses blooming on the balcony.
I glared at her, and Cillian instinctively shielded her behind him. "You'll be out by tonight. Don't make this difficult for everyone."
I lowered my gaze. "Fine."
My father had lost his power. The Callahan family’s standing was gone. I was alone, and Cillian no longer had to pretend to respect me.
By evening, I had moved into a small guest room at the far end of the hall. I gathered all the jewelry and designer bags Cillian had ever given me and took them to a discreet pawn shop in Manhattan.
I was a regular here, and the manager greeted me warmly, leading me to the VIP room.
As I laid the pieces on the black velvet, my eyes fell on the engagement ring first. The Brennan family had been in a critical period of expansion back then, yet he had spent a small fortune on it.
The second, a Cartier bracelet he bought after securing the East Side. The third, a necklace he gave me after I’d nursed him through an injury from some internal family business.
I used to love wearing that necklace when I visited his operations. The diamond pendant would catch the light, and he would hold me, his fingers tangling in my hair, and whisper that I smelled fresh, clean—not like the other women he knew.
The manager looked surprised. "These all look like gifts from Mr. Brennan. Are you sure?"
"Yes," I replied, my voice firm.
She inspected the items and wrote me a check. I took the offered price without negotiation and left with the money.
The boutique-lined street was bustling. Then, I heard Cillian's voice.
"Do you like this necklace?" he was asking.
"I do," Liliana answered, her voice shy.
He bought it without a second thought. As he was paying, he looked up and our eyes met. His gaze dropped to my left hand, to the bare finger where my engagement ring used to be.
He closed the distance in three long strides, his hand clamping around my wrist. "Where's your ring?" he demanded.
