Chapter 1

The air in Alexander Sterling’s Manhattan penthouse always felt recycled, thin. Five years. The contract stipulated five years. Tomorrow, October 22nd, was the final day. Alexander stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a silhouette against the glittering New York skyline. He didn’t turn when he spoke. “Emily.” His voice, as always, was cool, precise. “Sophia will be moving in after the wedding. October 23rd.” I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. My reflection stared back from the dark glass, a pale, still figure. “I expect you to stay on. As her… life consultant.” Life consultant. The words hung in the expensive air. A consultant to the woman replacing me. To teach her how to be Mrs. Alexander Sterling. How to navigate the charity galas, the silent dinners, the crushing weight of his expectations. Humiliation, cold and sharp, spread through my chest. “She’ll need guidance adapting to this… environment,” he continued, oblivious or uncaring. “You know the routines. The staff. My preferences.” My preferences. For five years, my life had revolved around his preferences. No bright colors. No loud music. No unsolicited opinions. No screenwriting. He’d found my first draft, three years ago, tucked away in a drawer. He hadn’t yelled. He’d simply looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, and said, “This is not what I pay you for, Emily.” The fifty thousand dollars a year, the half-million at the end of the contract – that was for obedience. For being a silent, graceful accessory. Enough to fund Liam’s journalism degree at Columbia, to pull us out of the debt our parents left. “Alexander,” I began, my voice barely a whisper. He finally turned, his expression impatient. “Is there a problem?” A problem. He wanted me to groom my replacement. To hand over the keys to my gilded cage, with instructions on how to best serve its master. I looked at him, at the perfectly tailored suit, the indifferent set of his jaw. The man I had, by contract, called my husband. “No,” I said. “No problem.” A lie. The biggest problem of my life was standing right in front of me. He gave a curt nod. “Good. Thompson will arrange the new terms for your… continued employment.” He turned back to the window, dismissing me. The conversation was over. My five years were almost over. But he envisioned a new, indefinite sentence. Not for me. That night, I packed a single suitcase. My laptop, a few clothes, the worn copy of “Adventures in the Screen Trade” Liam had given me. The fifty thousand dollars from the first year was mostly gone, to Liam’s tuition. The subsequent annual payments sat untouched in a separate account, along with the bulk of the initial sum. I had lived on the household allowance, frugally. I wrote no note. There was nothing left to say. The doorman, a kind man named George who sometimes slipped me a sympathetic smile, was on duty. “Leaving for the night, Mrs. Sterling?” “Yes, George. Just for the night.” Another lie. He hailed a cab. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, I took out my phone. Alexander’s contact. I pressed “Block.” Then his office number. Blocked. His personal assistant, Thompson. Blocked. I removed the SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped the pieces into my purse. The apartment Alexander had provided for Liam was small, but it was ours, in a lively part of Brooklyn. Far from the sterile grandeur of Manhattan. Liam opened the door, his eyes widening when he saw my suitcase. “Em? What’s wrong?” “The contract’s up, Liam.” A slow smile spread across his face. “So, you’re free?” “Almost.” I thought of Alexander’s “life consultant” proposal. “He wants me to stay. To help Sophia.” Liam’s smile vanished. “He what? That bastard.” “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going back.” He pulled me into a hug. “Good. God, Em, good.” I breathed in the scent of his familiar, slightly messy apartment – old books, coffee, freedom. Tomorrow, Alexander Sterling would expect his wife. He would find an empty room.