Chapter 1

Ten years. Ten years with Andrew, and it had all come down to this. Benign neglect. That' s what our marriage felt like, a slow, quiet decay hidden behind the polished exterior of our Boston brownstone. I, Gabrielle Fuller, once a promising graphic designer in New York, had become a supporting character in my own life, my world revolving around the orbit of Dr. Andrew Scott, the charismatic rising star at his law firm.

My father, the late Judge Fuller, was the catalyst for it all. He was Andrew' s mentor, his champion, the man who saw a son in him and paved his path to success. His dying wish, gasped out between labored breaths as the paramedics worked on him, was for me. For us.

"Gabby... promise me... you and Andrew... work it out."

His words were a lead weight in my chest as I sat in the sterile hospital waiting room, the smell of antiseptic clinging to everything. I clutched my phone, my thumb hovering over Andrew' s name. He was in London for a big legal conference, a career-defining moment. I dialed.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Each ring echoed the frantic, useless beat of my own heart. I called again. And again. Dozens of times, the calls went straight to voicemail, the automated voice a cold, impersonal barrier. I texted, my messages a desperate stream of "Andrew, call me. It's Dad. It's an emergency."

Finally, on what must have been the twentieth try, someone picked up.

"Hello?"

It wasn't Andrew. The voice was female, sharp, and clipped with annoyance. I recognized it instantly. Jennifer Chavez. His ex-girlfriend from Harvard Law, his rival, now his colleague on this high-profile case.

"Jennifer? Where's Andrew? I need to speak to him. It's an emergency."

"He's busy," she said, her tone dismissive. "He's preparing for a presentation. He can't be disturbed."

The line was quiet for a moment, the unspoken reality hanging between Boston and London. He wasn't just busy. He was with her. And she was answering his phone.

The world tilted. The grief for my father, the years of quiet resentment, the hollow promise I just made-it all coalesced into a single, sharp point of clarity.

"Tell him we're getting a divorce," I said, my voice eerily calm.

Then I hung up.