Chapter 3

Pale morning sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window above the altar, casting faint spots of color across the dusty marble floor where Julianne lay curled beside the pew.

She forced her heavy eyelids open. Her forehead was burning hot, and swallowing sent a dry, tearing pain down her throat.

Gripping the freezing wooden armrest of the pew, Julianne fought off a wave of dizziness and pulled herself up to her feet. She brushed the damp dust off her trench coat just as the iron lock rattled from the outside.

The heavy door swung open, letting a gust of freezing late-autumn air rush into the room.

Chadwick walked in wearing a freshly pressed charcoal-gray three-piece suit, the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist gleaming in the morning light. Two senior legal partners carrying leather briefcases followed closely behind him.

His polished Oxford shoes stopped a few feet away. His gaze swept over Julianne's pale, bloodless face and tangled black hair, a slight crease forming between his brows.

"After a whole night to cool your head, I assume you understand your situation." Chadwick lifted his chin slightly, and one of the lawyers immediately stepped forward holding a bound document. "Sign the voluntary separation agreement. Waive all claims to marital assets and alimony, and move to Switzerland. In return, the family won't press charges for assault."

Julianne raised her dark amber eyes. There was no pleading in them.

"Take back your charity, Chadwick. We don't need a separation. Let's get divorced."

Chadwick's pupils shrank, anger flashing across his face.

"What did you say? Divorce? You think bringing up divorce first will save your pathetic pride?"

Without another word, Julianne reached out and snatched the black Montblanc pen from the lawyer's hand. With two sharp strokes, she crossed out the word "Separation" in the title, wrote "Absolute Divorce" above it, and signed her name at the bottom of the page.

"My lawyer will deliver the formal no-fault divorce decree to your desk. Zero alimony. I'm walking out with nothing." Julianne tossed the pen onto the wooden pew, where it landed with a sharp clatter. "From this second on, I have nothing to do with the Blanchard family."

The two lawyers stared blankly at the altered document before glancing nervously at their boss.

Chadwick let out a cold laugh, shoving down the sudden irritation rising in his chest.

"Walking out with nothing? Every thread on your body was paid for by the Blanchard family. Once you leave Long Island, you won't even be able to afford a basement room in a Manhattan shared apartment!"

Julianne tugged the corner of her pale lips upward and spoke low enough that only the two of them could hear.

"Then keep your eyes wide open and watch who actually needs who."

She turned around, stepped past the two frozen lawyers, and walked straight out the open doors of the chapel.

The cold morning wind hit her face. Her feverish body trembled, and black spots danced at the edges of her vision, yet she kept her back straight as she crossed the main courtyard.

Several maids wiping down the marble statues paused their work, whispering behind their hands and pointing at her rumpled coat.

Near the driveway, Jaycee leaned against the door of a Rolls-Royce holding an iced Americano. Seeing Julianne walk toward the main gates, she called out loudly.

"Oh, running away already? Here I thought your bones were made of iron! Just a shameless beggar who doesn't know her place!"

Julianne didn't even turn her head, walking straight through the tall wrought-iron gates onto the tree-lined road leading toward the highway.

Down the wide asphalt road, the roar of an engine tore through the morning quiet.

A bright yellow Ferrari screeched around the corner, its tires smoking as it drifted sideways and stopped directly across the estate entrance.

The driver's door swung up. Eva Hansen jumped out in a bright red trench coat and ten-centimeter red-soled heels, her golden-brown curls flying in the wind.

As a top Manhattan socialite and founder of her own independent fashion label, Eva had been Julianne's closest friend since their teens.

Catching sight of Julianne's pale face and swaying footsteps, Eva's eyes went wide. She ran forward and caught Julianne by the shoulders.

"Jules! My God, why are you burning up like this? What did those bastards do to you?"

Leaning against the familiar scent of her friend's perfume, the tight string holding Julianne upright snapped. Her vision went completely black, and her knees gave out.

Eva caught her around the waist, stripped off her own heavy wool coat to wrap around Julianne, and spat toward the wrought-iron gates of the estate.

"Screw the Blanchard family! I'm going to tear this place apart brick by brick!"

Standing at the top of the main house steps, Chadwick saw the red-coated woman help Julianne into the sports car. His brows knitted together tightly.

"Eva Hansen? How does she know Julianne?"

Naturally, he will not know why there is a connection between her and Eva Hansen.

Chadwick had never once made a real effort to know Julianne or to notice anything about her. He had married her simply because she was obedient, sensible, and easy to control—and because that served to shore up his status and standing.

Otherwise, with a background as lowly as hers, he would never have spared her a second glance.

Eva slammed the passenger door shut. The yellow Ferrari launched forward, white exhaust pouring from the tailpipes as it sped down the coastal highway.

Chadwick stood beneath the stone columns of the porch, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

The lead lawyer walked up cautiously and held out the altered paper.

"Mr. Blanchard, should we void this document and draft a new one?"

Chadwick snatched the paper and stared at the sharp black signature at the bottom.

"Void it? Since she wants to play hard to get, let her walk out penniless and freeze in the streets! Within three days, she'll come crawling back on her knees begging me to drop the charges!"

Miles away on the Long Island Expressway, the Ferrari wove through morning traffic well above the speed limit.

Eva gripped the steering wheel with one hand and tapped her Bluetooth earpiece with the other.

"Albin, clear out the VIP wing at NewYork-Presbyterian right now! Jules is in trouble!"

Ten minutes later, the yellow sports car screeched to a halt outside the private VIP emergency entrance on the Upper East Side, where waiting nurses rushed forward with a gurney to wheel the unconscious Julianne straight into the treatment room.