Chapter 7
Over the next two weeks, I filed for divorce, secured a temporary settlement for the renovation money, and started painting again.
Kade's penthouse had a spare room with north-facing light. I asked if I could use it as a studio. He had canvases, oils, and an easel delivered within the hour.
He didn't hover. He gave me space. He went to work, came home, cooked dinner, and slept on the couch — even though the man owned a penthouse with four bedrooms.
"You're still sleeping out here," I said one morning, finding him folding a blanket.
"My bedroom's on the same floor as yours. Didn't want to make you uncomfortable."
This man was six-foot-two, built like a wall, running a billion-dollar company, and sleeping on his own couch because he didn't want to crowd me.
Something in my chest was getting dangerously soft.
On Thursday, Marcus showed up.
He buzzed the penthouse intercom. Kade was at work. I answered.
"Elena. Please. I just want to talk."
I let him up. Maybe I wanted him to see how I was living now.
He walked in and his eyes did a full sweep of the penthouse — the art on the walls, the view, the sheer scale of wealth on display.
"So this is where you've been." His voice was flat.
"What do you want, Marcus?"
He looked wrecked. Thinner. Dark circles. His shirt was wrinkled.
"The board is pushing me out. Ashford's people are dismantling everything I built. I need you to talk to him."
I sat down on the arm of the couch and crossed my legs.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because — because you're my wife —"
"Ex-wife. Papers are filed."
"Because we had five years together! Doesn't that count for anything?"
"It counted for nothing to you at that party."
Marcus ran his hands through his hair.
"I made a mistake. Naomi — she's not what I thought. She's already spending money we don't have. She's moved her friends in. She's —" He looked at me with something pathetic in his eyes. "She's not you, Elena."
I felt nothing. Not satisfaction. Not pity. Just nothing.
"That sounds like a you problem."
"Elena. Please." He stepped closer. "What if we — what if I ended things with her? What if—"
"Marcus. She's pregnant with your child."
"I know, but—"
"And even if she weren't — I wouldn't take you back if you were the last man alive."
His face crumpled. Then shifted. Hardened.
"It's him, isn't it. Ashford. How long have you been fucking him? Were you cheating on me before—"
"Don't." My voice went cold as ice. "Don't you dare project your sins onto me. I never so much as looked at another man while we were married. You cannot say the same."
"Get out."
He didn't move.
"Marcus. Get out, or I call security."
He left. But at the door he turned.
"You think Ashford's different? He's using you. As leverage against me. The second he's done with Sterling, he'll drop you."
The door closed.
I sat there in silence, and I'll admit — the words landed somewhere. A small, bruised part of me that still expected to be dropped.
When Kade got home that evening, I told him Marcus had come.
His expression barely changed. "What did he want?"
"For me to call off your dogs."
"And?"
"I told him to leave."
Kade set down his bag and looked at me.
"He said something that got to you."
It wasn't a question. He could read me like a page.
"He said you're using me. As leverage."
Kade didn't flinch. He walked over and sat beside me on the couch. Not touching, but close.
"If I wanted leverage against Marcus, I wouldn't need you. I own his company. I could fire him tomorrow."
"I haven't, because I know it would look like I was doing it for you, and I didn't want you to feel like a pawn."
He turned his head to look at me directly.
"But if you want me to fire him — say the word. It'll be done by morning."
I looked into his eyes and saw something terrifying: he meant it entirely.
"Don't fire him for me. Do whatever makes business sense."
"Business sense says he goes. He's been cooking the books for two years."
I blinked. "What?"
"Fraud, Elena. Embezzlement. Small scale, but consistent. My forensic accountants found it in week one."
The floor tilted under me.
"He's been stealing?"
"From his own company. Redirecting funds into a personal account. Probably to finance the lifestyle Naomi's gotten used to."
I put my head in my hands.
"I was married to a criminal."
"You were married to a weak man. The criminal part is new, and it's also going to be his problem, not yours."
Kade's penthouse had a spare room with north-facing light. I asked if I could use it as a studio. He had canvases, oils, and an easel delivered within the hour.
He didn't hover. He gave me space. He went to work, came home, cooked dinner, and slept on the couch — even though the man owned a penthouse with four bedrooms.
"You're still sleeping out here," I said one morning, finding him folding a blanket.
"My bedroom's on the same floor as yours. Didn't want to make you uncomfortable."
This man was six-foot-two, built like a wall, running a billion-dollar company, and sleeping on his own couch because he didn't want to crowd me.
Something in my chest was getting dangerously soft.
On Thursday, Marcus showed up.
He buzzed the penthouse intercom. Kade was at work. I answered.
"Elena. Please. I just want to talk."
I let him up. Maybe I wanted him to see how I was living now.
He walked in and his eyes did a full sweep of the penthouse — the art on the walls, the view, the sheer scale of wealth on display.
"So this is where you've been." His voice was flat.
"What do you want, Marcus?"
He looked wrecked. Thinner. Dark circles. His shirt was wrinkled.
"The board is pushing me out. Ashford's people are dismantling everything I built. I need you to talk to him."
I sat down on the arm of the couch and crossed my legs.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because — because you're my wife —"
"Ex-wife. Papers are filed."
"Because we had five years together! Doesn't that count for anything?"
"It counted for nothing to you at that party."
Marcus ran his hands through his hair.
"I made a mistake. Naomi — she's not what I thought. She's already spending money we don't have. She's moved her friends in. She's —" He looked at me with something pathetic in his eyes. "She's not you, Elena."
I felt nothing. Not satisfaction. Not pity. Just nothing.
"That sounds like a you problem."
"Elena. Please." He stepped closer. "What if we — what if I ended things with her? What if—"
"Marcus. She's pregnant with your child."
"I know, but—"
"And even if she weren't — I wouldn't take you back if you were the last man alive."
His face crumpled. Then shifted. Hardened.
"It's him, isn't it. Ashford. How long have you been fucking him? Were you cheating on me before—"
"Don't." My voice went cold as ice. "Don't you dare project your sins onto me. I never so much as looked at another man while we were married. You cannot say the same."
"Get out."
He didn't move.
"Marcus. Get out, or I call security."
He left. But at the door he turned.
"You think Ashford's different? He's using you. As leverage against me. The second he's done with Sterling, he'll drop you."
The door closed.
I sat there in silence, and I'll admit — the words landed somewhere. A small, bruised part of me that still expected to be dropped.
When Kade got home that evening, I told him Marcus had come.
His expression barely changed. "What did he want?"
"For me to call off your dogs."
"And?"
"I told him to leave."
Kade set down his bag and looked at me.
"He said something that got to you."
It wasn't a question. He could read me like a page.
"He said you're using me. As leverage."
Kade didn't flinch. He walked over and sat beside me on the couch. Not touching, but close.
"If I wanted leverage against Marcus, I wouldn't need you. I own his company. I could fire him tomorrow."
"I haven't, because I know it would look like I was doing it for you, and I didn't want you to feel like a pawn."
He turned his head to look at me directly.
"But if you want me to fire him — say the word. It'll be done by morning."
I looked into his eyes and saw something terrifying: he meant it entirely.
"Don't fire him for me. Do whatever makes business sense."
"Business sense says he goes. He's been cooking the books for two years."
I blinked. "What?"
"Fraud, Elena. Embezzlement. Small scale, but consistent. My forensic accountants found it in week one."
The floor tilted under me.
"He's been stealing?"
"From his own company. Redirecting funds into a personal account. Probably to finance the lifestyle Naomi's gotten used to."
I put my head in my hands.
"I was married to a criminal."
"You were married to a weak man. The criminal part is new, and it's also going to be his problem, not yours."