Chapter 6
I did not sleep that night.
I sat in the attic room with the broken pieces of my mother's violin laid out on the bed, trying to fit them together like a puzzle that could never be solved.
Around 3 a.m., Ethan sent a message: *Landing at 6. I'm coming straight to you. Send me the address.*
I typed back my father's address, then hesitated. *Come to the garden gate. I'll meet you there. Don't let anyone see you yet.*
*Why?*
I stared at the screen. How could I explain? That my ex-husband thought I was lying about being married. That my stepsister wanted me on my knees. That everyone in this house saw me as a desperate, jealous woman crawling back for a man who never wanted her.
*I'll explain when you're here,* I sent.
*Julie.* A pause. Then: *Whoever made you cry tonight will answer for it. That's not a threat. It's scheduling.*
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped me.
I dozed off sometime before dawn. When I woke, sunlight poured through the cracked attic window, and my phone showed three missed calls from Ethan.
I splashed water on my face and hurried downstairs.
The house was chaos. Florists carried arrangements through the halls. Caterers set up in the back garden. The engagement dinner was tonight, and the Hartley-Ashford union was being treated like a state event.
I slipped out through the service entrance and circled to the garden gate.
Ethan leaned against a black car, arms crossed. He wore a dark turtleneck and tailored coat. His glasses caught the morning light. The moment he saw me, he straightened.
Then he saw my face — the dark circles, the swollen eyes, the exhaustion carved into every line — and his expression went very, very still.
"Julie." He crossed the distance between us in two strides and cupped my face. His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes. "What did they do to you?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You've been crying." His voice remained steady, but I could feel the tension running beneath it — contained rage, barely leashed. "Tell me everything."
So I did. The violin. The kneeling. Madeleine's smile. Dominic's hand wrenching me to the floor.
Ethan listened without interrupting. His jaw tightened with each detail. By the time I finished, his hands had dropped to my shoulders, holding me gently, but his eyes burned cold.
"The engagement dinner," he said quietly. "Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Good." Something dangerous moved through his expression. "I was already invited."
I blinked. "What?"
"Dominic Ashford sent me an invitation three weeks ago. He's been trying to secure a business deal with Carrington Corp for months." Ethan's mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile. "He doesn't know my wife's maiden name. He has no idea who you are to me."
My heart pounded. "Ethan—"
"I wasn't going to attend," he continued. "But now I wouldn't miss it for the world."
He pulled me into his arms. I buried my face against his chest and breathed him in — cedar, warmth, safety.
"Tonight," he murmured against my hair, "you walk in with me. And every single person who made you kneel will understand exactly what they've done."
---
I sat in the attic room with the broken pieces of my mother's violin laid out on the bed, trying to fit them together like a puzzle that could never be solved.
Around 3 a.m., Ethan sent a message: *Landing at 6. I'm coming straight to you. Send me the address.*
I typed back my father's address, then hesitated. *Come to the garden gate. I'll meet you there. Don't let anyone see you yet.*
*Why?*
I stared at the screen. How could I explain? That my ex-husband thought I was lying about being married. That my stepsister wanted me on my knees. That everyone in this house saw me as a desperate, jealous woman crawling back for a man who never wanted her.
*I'll explain when you're here,* I sent.
*Julie.* A pause. Then: *Whoever made you cry tonight will answer for it. That's not a threat. It's scheduling.*
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped me.
I dozed off sometime before dawn. When I woke, sunlight poured through the cracked attic window, and my phone showed three missed calls from Ethan.
I splashed water on my face and hurried downstairs.
The house was chaos. Florists carried arrangements through the halls. Caterers set up in the back garden. The engagement dinner was tonight, and the Hartley-Ashford union was being treated like a state event.
I slipped out through the service entrance and circled to the garden gate.
Ethan leaned against a black car, arms crossed. He wore a dark turtleneck and tailored coat. His glasses caught the morning light. The moment he saw me, he straightened.
Then he saw my face — the dark circles, the swollen eyes, the exhaustion carved into every line — and his expression went very, very still.
"Julie." He crossed the distance between us in two strides and cupped my face. His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes. "What did they do to you?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You've been crying." His voice remained steady, but I could feel the tension running beneath it — contained rage, barely leashed. "Tell me everything."
So I did. The violin. The kneeling. Madeleine's smile. Dominic's hand wrenching me to the floor.
Ethan listened without interrupting. His jaw tightened with each detail. By the time I finished, his hands had dropped to my shoulders, holding me gently, but his eyes burned cold.
"The engagement dinner," he said quietly. "Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Good." Something dangerous moved through his expression. "I was already invited."
I blinked. "What?"
"Dominic Ashford sent me an invitation three weeks ago. He's been trying to secure a business deal with Carrington Corp for months." Ethan's mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile. "He doesn't know my wife's maiden name. He has no idea who you are to me."
My heart pounded. "Ethan—"
"I wasn't going to attend," he continued. "But now I wouldn't miss it for the world."
He pulled me into his arms. I buried my face against his chest and breathed him in — cedar, warmth, safety.
"Tonight," he murmured against my hair, "you walk in with me. And every single person who made you kneel will understand exactly what they've done."
---