The morning sun sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a cruel, brilliant light that stung Arlie's swollen eyes. She instinctively reached for the other side of the king-sized bed.
The sheets were cold. Untouched.
She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. The screen was dark, empty. No happy birthday text. No call. Not even a cursory email from his assistant.
He had forgotten.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. Of course, he had.
She pushed herself out of bed, her body aching with a weariness that had nothing to do with sleep. She walked to her dresser and pulled open a drawer, shoving the divorce agreement into the very back, beneath a pile of silk scarves she never wore. Out of sight, but not out of mind.
In the bathroom, she splashed her face with ice-cold water, again and again, trying to wash away the tired, broken woman staring back at her from the mirror.
An hour later, she was sitting in a chic café on Fifth Avenue. The rich aroma of coffee and pastries did nothing to soothe the hollowness inside her.
"There's the birthday girl!"
Zoe Foster slid into the booth opposite her, her bright red coat a stark contrast to Arlie's muted gray. She pushed a beautifully wrapped gift across the table before enveloping Arlie in a fierce hug.
"Happy birthday, sweetie."
"Thanks, Zoe." Arlie forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. **Zoe was the only real light in the suffocating darkness of her life in New York. While the Austin family had treated Arlie with thinly veiled disdain for five years, Zoe had been her fiercely loyal shield, the one friend who never cared about money or status.**
Zoe's cheerful expression faltered as she took in Arlie's pale face and the haunted look in her eyes. Her voice dropped. "What did he do? Did that bastard Connor forget again?"
Arlie stared down at her untouched latte, tracing a pattern in the foam. She didn't have to say anything. The silence was answer enough.
"He wants a divorce," Arlie whispered, the words feeling foreign and ugly on her tongue.
The sharp crack of Zoe's hand hitting the table made several patrons turn their heads.
"That son of a bitch!" Zoe hissed, her voice a furious whisper. "After everything you've done for him? He's blind. He's an idiot."
Meanwhile, across town in the sterile, glass-walled boardroom of Austin Corp., Connor was listening to a presentation on a multi-billion dollar acquisition. His focus was absolute, his expression impassive.
His personal phone, the one reserved for family, vibrated on the polished table. He glanced at the screen: Sylvia Austin. He frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
He raised a hand, silencing the presenter. "Five minutes."
He stepped into his private office and answered the call.
"What is it, Mother?"
"What is it?" Sylvia's voice was sharp, laced with an uncharacteristic fury. "It's your wife's birthday, Connor! And you're in a meeting? Have you lost your mind? Have you no decency at all?"
The words hit him with the force of a physical impact.
Birthday.
His hand tightened on the phone, the cool metal pressing into his palm. His heart gave a hard, painful lurch. He had completely, utterly forgotten.
A wave of guilt, so potent it was nauseating, washed over him. It was followed by something else, a strange, unfamiliar flicker of panic.
"The meeting is over," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He hung up without waiting for a reply.
He strode back into the boardroom. "We're done for today. Reschedule."
Without another word, he grabbed his car keys and his coat, leaving a room full of stunned executives in his wake.
**After practically dragging Arlie out of the café, insisting on retail therapy as a cure for heartbreak,** Arlie and Zoe were wandering aimlessly through the Chanel boutique on 57th Street, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and leather. Arlie was trying to use retail therapy to numb the gaping wound in her chest, but nothing worked.
The bell above the door chimed.
A tall, imposing figure filled the entrance. Connor.
The sales associates, recognizing one of the city's most powerful men, immediately straightened, their smiles becoming deferential. But Connor's gaze swept past them, landing directly on Arlie.
She froze, a silk scarf dangling from her fingers. Her heart did a stupid, hopeful flip in her chest. He came. He remembered.
He closed the distance between them in a few long strides. His voice, when he spoke, was softer than she had heard it in months.
"Arlie. I'm sorry. Let me take you to dinner. Per Se, wherever you want."
Her breath caught. For a single, fragile second, she allowed herself to hope. Then she got a whiff of his suit jacket. A faint, floral scent. It wasn't her perfume. It was sweet, cloying. It was Jayden's.
Zoe let out a cold, cynical laugh from beside her. "Let me guess. Mommy called and yelled at you, didn't she? You're only here because you got caught."
Connor's face hardened. His jaw tightened, and his gaze shifted to Zoe, his blue eyes turning to chips of ice. "Watch your mouth, Foster."
The condescending threat, the protective anger not meant for her, shattered the last of Arlie's hope. It wasn't an apology. It was an obligation. A chore. A piece of charity tossed her way to appease his mother.
She took a step back, creating a chasm between them.
"No, thank you," she said, her voice surprisingly clear and steady. The coldness in her tone seemed to startle him. "I don't want your pity dinner."
Connor stared at her, genuinely shocked. He was used to her compliance, her quiet acceptance of whatever crumbs he threw her way. He had never been rejected by her. Not like this. Not so cleanly.
"Arlie-" he started, reaching for her arm.
She pulled away as if his touch burned her. She grabbed Zoe's hand.
"Let's go, Zoe."
She turned her back on him and walked out of the store, leaving Connor Austin standing alone amidst the glittering displays of a life he thought he could control.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. A surge of unfamiliar, uncontrollable rage burned in his chest as he watched her disappear into the Fifth Avenue crowd.
