Chapter 3

Erie Dickson POV:

Dragging my dripping suitcase into the foyer of the Brooklyn apartment, I shivered uncontrollably as wet strands of hair clung to my freezing cheeks.

Addison Lucas, my fiercest best friend and an ace PR manager in the cutthroat NHL sports circle, rushed out of her bedroom in silk pajamas and gasped, throwing her arms around me.

"Oh my god, babe, what happened to you?"

Her warm embrace shattered my last bit of composure, and I buried my face in her shoulder, my voice raw and hoarse.

"I gave him the divorce papers."

Addison wrapped a thick, dry bath towel around my shoulders, cursing through gritted teeth as she led me into the living room.

"That dog Denver! He actually let you walk out in the middle of a storm?"

I shook my head, sinking into the sofa and wrapping my numb fingers around the mug of hot cocoa she handed me.

"I left on my own, I couldn't stand another second in that icebox."

Staring at the steam rising from the mug, my mind flashed back to yesterday afternoon when Ashlynn Salazar, a tabloid model desperate to climb into Manhattan's elite circle, had barged into my home studio in stilettos.

That brainless woman had slapped a crumpled ultrasound printout right onto my sketching pad, her bright red fingernail tapping the blurry gestational sac on the paper.

"Do you see this clearly, Mrs. Dickerson?"

Ashlynn's shrill voice still echoed in my ears.

"It's Denver's baby, so a barren, cheap ornament like you needs to get out of the way."

Because of his illegitimate childhood, Denver had always guarded against having children, yet looking at that hospital stamp on the printout, I had no choice but to believe he had broken his own rule for her.

That ugly truth didn't just end our fake marriage; it ripped open the bleeding scar of the real baby I had lost in a pool of blood three years ago.

I squeezed my eyes shut to push the memory down, then looked at Addison's worried face.

"I walked away with nothing, I didn't ask for a dime."

Addison blinked, then slapped her thigh hard.

"Hell yes! That's how you slap that arrogant bastard in the face and show him we don't care about his filthy money!"

She reached under the coffee table and pulled out a thick stack of business cards and PR files, sliding them toward me.

"Since you're making a clean break, it's time to get back to business—the chief designer spot at Aurora Atelier is still open, and their editor-in-chief Vivian has been looking for you."

Staring at my old alias "Nova" printed on the file, the design dream I had buried for three years sparked back to life in my chest.

I set the mug down on the table, my eyes clearing with sharp determination.

"Help me set up a meeting with Vivian for tomorrow afternoon."

Denver Dickerson POV:

Sitting in the leather chair on the sixty-eighth floor of the Empire Sports Entertainment building, I stared out at the waking Manhattan skyline with a dark scowl.

My chief assistant and executive vice president, Charlie Moody, pushed the door open in an immaculate gray suit, carrying an urgent investigation folder.

He placed the file respectfully on my mahogany desk and pushed his titanium-framed glasses up his nose.

"Boss, Madam went to Brooklyn last night, to Addison Lucas's apartment."

I let out a cold laugh, my long fingers tapping restlessly against the polished wood.

"Running to that loudmouthed PR manager? Looks like she's planning a media circus to force my hand."

Charlie lowered his head slightly, keeping his voice completely flat.

"Also, all of Madam's supplementary black cards have been frozen, but the system shows she paid for her cab last night with a standard debit card that has less than two hundred dollars left on it."

My tapping fingers froze, my brows knotting tightly.

"She didn't touch a single cent from my accounts?"

"No, Boss."

Charlie hesitated for a second before adding quietly.

"And the suitcase she took didn't contain a single piece of the haute couture clothing or jewelry you bought for her."

A heavy weight seemed to slam into my chest, a wave of unfamiliar panic mixing with irritation as my control over her slipped into thin air.

"Just an act."

I ground the words out between my teeth and yanked open the bottom drawer on my right.

Deep inside sat a dark blue velvet box holding a one-of-a-kind star-diamond necklace I had flown to Paris last month to have custom-made for our third anniversary.

Staring at the box, all I could see was her cold, detached face when she slammed those divorce papers down last night.

I snatched the priceless velvet box and hurled it straight into the trash can beside my desk like a piece of garbage.

The heavy thud made Charlie's eyelids twitch, though he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Go check on what that idiot Ashlynn has been up to lately."

I pressed the tip of my tongue against my back teeth, my voice dropping to a lethal chill.

"If she tries anything stupid, cut off every single resource she has immediately."

Once Charlie left the room, I picked up my phone and clicked on the contact labeled "Mrs. Dickerson," staring at the empty chat screen.

Locking the screen with a cold sneer, I tossed the phone onto the desk and spun my chair toward the window, forcing my mind onto the upcoming NHL playoffs while waiting for her to crawl back and beg.