Chapter 2

2.

Gabriel left early the next morning. He claimed he needed to prepare materials at the firm. I knew the truth: he was going to pick up Serena.

Serena posted on her Instagram story:

Finally off to chase the sunset! Thanks to a certain someone for the special escort. Even if it was just a ‘ride,’ I’m super excited!

The picture was a selfie from the passenger seat of a Porsche Cayenne. In the background, Gabriel’s strong, veined hand rested on the steering wheel. On his wrist was the Patek Philippe I’d given him for his 30th birthday―a watch I had fought for at a Christie’s auction.

Now, it was just a prop in another woman’s post.

Expressionless, I went to my studio. It was filled with a year’s worth of my heart and soul. The centerpiece was a painting titled The Watcher. It depicted a lone figure in a snowy Central Park at night, watching over a flickering, dying streetlamp. That was Gabriel. And it was a portrait of my marriage.

My phone rang. It was the gallery.

“Chloe, we have the schedule for the opening. Is your husband confirmed for the ribbon-cutting ceremony? We need to print his name at the top of the VIP list.”

I gripped the phone.

“No need. Take his name off.”

The person on the other end was stunned. “But all the press releases have already…”

“I said, take it off.”

After hanging up, I started packing. Erasing every trace of “Chloe” from this home. I found so many old memories. A faded yellow sticky note from seven years ago, written by Gabriel when we first met at Columbia University.

I was once a celebrated prodigy, an award-winning illustrator with a brilliant future. Back then, Gabriel was just a law student drowning in debt. I stayed up countless nights helping him organize case files, giving up my chance to study at the école des Beaux-Arts in Paris and ruining my eyesight in the process.

He had written on the note:

Chloe, when I make it, I’ll make you the happiest Mrs. Vance in the world. I’ll buy us a huge house on Fifth Avenue with a dedicated studio, so you can paint for the rest of your life.

Now, he had made it. He was a top partner in New York’s legal world, worth hundreds of millions. We had the house, a penthouse overlooking Central Park with a massive studio.

He had achieved everything he promised.

Except for making me happy.

For seven years, I’d filed down all my sharp edges to fit his image of the "perfect lawyer's wife." He said a partner’s wife shouldn't be too edgy, so I stopped wearing avant-garde designer clothes. He said he hated the smell of smoke and alcohol, so I stopped attending late-night art salon parties. I even switched from vibrant oil paints to muted watercolors. I had turned myself into his lifeless accessory.

And Serena?

She was vibrant, loud, and did whatever she wanted. She’d call Gabriel in the middle of the night to pick her up from a club in the Meatpacking District. She’d strut into his law firm in a low-cut dress, and at partner dinners, she’d cling to his arm in front of me, calling him “Gabe”―a nickname only I was supposed to use.

Gabriel would say, “She doesn’t know any better,” but his eyes were full of indulgence.

Because Serena was the widow of his late brother, Ethan.

Ethan was his best friend; they’d clawed their way out of a Brooklyn slum together. He died in a late-night car crash on his way to Serena’s birthday party. With his last breath, he entrusted Serena to Gabriel.

But that wasn’t the whole story. Ethan had left a multi-million-dollar trust fund, with Gabriel as the sole trustee. The money came from Ethan’s life insurance and early investments. The terms of the trust stipulated that if the trustee (Gabriel) voluntarily stepped down, all assets would immediately and unconditionally transfer to the beneficiary (Serena), free from his oversight. In other words, Gabriel was shackled by a carefully designed legal chain.

And there was more. Serena held a deadlier card―years ago, Gabriel had given a less-than-truthful witness statement to get Ethan out of trouble. If that ever came out, his law license and entire career would be destroyed.

So Gabriel’s favoritism toward Serena wasn’t just about guilt and responsibility. It was about being blackmailed, and it was about his own arrogance―he believed he could manage everyone and everything, and that Chloe would always be waiting for him.