Chapter 1

1.

At a charity gala in a high-end steakhouse on the Upper East Side, my husband, the pianist Julian Vance, was using his multi-million dollar insured hands to cut a filet mignon for his assistant, Chloe.

He was just trying to coax the girl, who claimed she had no appetite, to eat something.

A few minutes earlier, I’d just escaped a sponsor who’d been bombarding me for two hours with his suggestive “investment ideas” for Julian’s upcoming national tour. My stomach was churning. I called out to Julian in a low voice, asking him to get a stomach pill from my purse.

He didn't even look up. "My hands are insured for five million dollars, Eleanor. You have hands. Get it yourself."

We had been married for seven years, together for ten. He couldn't even be bothered to come up with a new excuse to refuse me.

That night, standing in the cold November wind outside the restaurant, my mind was finally clear. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my lawyer: "Draft the papers. I want a divorce."

Julian, it's time we went our separate ways.

...

The entire table fell into an awkward silence as Julian personally cut Chloe's steak. Everyone's eyes were darting toward me.

Just a minute before, I had been emphasizing to a tech mogul, "Julian's hands are the foundation of his artistic career. They're heavily insured and protected like priceless treasures."

To break the tension, I raised my glass and took another sip, fighting the burn in my throat.

Just as the atmosphere eased, Julian announced he was leaving early to take Chloe for crêpes.

The sponsor's face immediately darkened. He half-jokingly tried to stop him, "Hey, the star of the show can't leave first."

Julian shoved his arm away. "Don't touch me!"

A conflict erupted instantly. As they started pushing each other, I had to rush forward, apologize, and endure the sponsor's condescending smirk, promising to "handle" the unpleasantness.

When I turned back, wanting to check if Julian’s hands were hurt, I only heard his icy voice.

"If you weren't so desperate to suck up to those Wall Street assholes, would Chloe be this hungry?"

"I'm taking her to get something to eat. Don't follow us. Your presence makes everyone uncomfortable."

Chloe looked at me with her dewy eyes, her voice timid. "I'm so sorry, Eleanor... I shouldn't have said I was feeling sick. I made Julian worry..."

Julian ruffled her hair disapprovingly, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Don't be silly. What did you do wrong? You're just too innocent."

He shot me a look of disgust. "It's her. All she sees are dollar signs and signatures. She doesn't give a damn about anyone's feelings."

I watched the fingers he used to wipe away Chloe's tears―the same hands that once swore to protect me for a lifetime. Now I understand that promises, like stomach pills, are never there when you need them.

I stood at the restaurant entrance, letting the November wind chill me for half an hour before I called my lawyer.

"Start the divorce proceedings."