Chapter 3

Jillian POV

I flipped my phone face down in my palm, my tone indifferent.

"Jackie. Just asking about some personal matters."

Brendan looked at me for two seconds. He probably figured a wife he had just forced to get an abortion couldn't cause any waves anyway. Without asking further, he turned and went back to the master bedroom.

The next morning, as I sat at the small desk in the guest room, my phone buzzed.

An encrypted message from Jackie: The off-market buyer agreed to purchase the Manhattan penthouse for thirty-four million dollars. All cash. Closing within seven business days.

I replied: Proceed with the escrow contract.

Two seconds later, Jackie called.

"Jillian, are you absolutely sure about keeping this baby behind his back?" Her tone was sharp and pragmatic. "You're dealing with Brendan Potts. If he finds out you lied to him about the abortion, his legal team will drag you through the courts for years."

"He'll never know," I said calmly. "The moment the divorce papers are signed and the money hits my account, I'm disappearing from New York."

"Where will you go?"

"Somewhere his corporate influence can't reach."

There was a pause on the line, followed by a low whistle of admiration from Jackie.

"You've got more guts than any woman I've ever worked with. I'll expedite the buyer's earnest money deposit today. Just remember, do not slip up in front of him."

"I won't."

Hanging up, I thought about Jackie's past. Seven years ago, her ex-husband transferred all his debts into her name and fled to the Caribbean with his secretary. She fought tooth and nail for three years to establish herself in commercial real estate. She saw the truth much earlier than I did: submission doesn't earn respect; only leverage and pragmatism can keep you safe.

At four in the afternoon, the butler, Harris, knocked on the guest room door, looking flustered.

"Mrs. Potts, sir instructed the kitchen to prepare a formal dinner for eight tonight. He said Miss Aurora Nelson is bringing several of her high-society friends over."

I closed the files on my desk, my face completely devoid of emotion.

"Understood, Harris. I'll go check the table settings."

I walked into the pantry and helped the staff organize the porcelain and silverware.

At exactly seven o'clock, the front elevator opened. Aurora Nelson stepped into the penthouse wearing a simple, elegant ivory silk gown, adorned with understated diamond jewelry. Brendan personally walked to the elevator to take her cashmere coat, gently supporting her elbow with a natural, tender motion as he considerately guided her toward the living room.

"Jillian," Aurora turned to me, a delicate, polite smile on her face. "Thank you so much for hosting us on such short notice. Brendan told me you've been resting, so I hope my arrival isn't an inconvenience."

She spoke to me with a condescending sense of superiority, using the tone one might reserve for a distant, poor relative or an accommodating housekeeper. Brendan stood behind her in silence, clearly giving his tacit approval to her slight.

"You're too kind, Miss Nelson. It's no trouble at all," I replied smoothly. "Dinner is served in the formal dining room. Please, come in."

The seating arrangement was deliberately designed to make a statement. Brendan sat at the head of the long walnut table. Aurora sat directly to his right, and Jaxon was placed in a booster seat between them. The other four guests were all prominent figures from Aurora's art gallery network. I was seated at the far end of the table, separated from them by three empty chairs.

Throughout the four-course meal, Brendan cut Jaxon's steak into bite-sized pieces and considerately handed Aurora a linen napkin before she even had to ask. They looked like a picture-perfect, flawless wealthy family.

One of the guests, a female art dealer in her fifties, glanced toward my end of the table.

"Mrs. Potts, you've barely touched your wine or your salmon. Are you feeling unwell?"

Brendan didn't even look up; his eyes remained fixed on Jaxon's plate. He offered no explanation, no defense, and didn't spare me a single glance.

"I happen to be doing a light detox cleanse this week," I offered a polite, faint smile. "Please, enjoy your meal, and do try the vintage Cabernet."

He paid the money, I provided the dignity. Putting me at the end of the table—it didn't matter. I was collecting cash, not his conscience.

After dinner, Aurora sat on the living room sofa and handed Jaxon a small plush bear. Jaxon climbed onto her lap and threw his arms around her neck.

"Thank you, Mommy," the little boy called out crisply.

The entire living room fell dead silent.

Aurora gently stroked the child's hair and looked up at Brendan, her eyes tender and shimmering with tears. Brendan looked down at the two of them, his expression filled with unreserved devotion and affection.

I turned around, walked quietly back into the kitchen, turned on the commercial faucet, and rinsed a glass three times. Once my hands were steady, I returned to the living room.

As the dinner party concluded, Brendan walked Aurora to the elevator. He turned back to me and said, "Let's finalize the divorce paperwork next week. Aurora is moving in next month; Jaxon has already been staying here; it'll be better for everyone."

I nodded.

My phone lit up. A message from Jackie: Buyer signed. Funds hit the offshore account on Monday.

Brendan was still at the elevator saying goodbye to Aurora, but he glanced back at me, as if waiting for me to cry, or to beg him.

I turned off my screen and gave him a calm nod.

The elevator doors closed. Brendan walked back, pausing for a step as he passed me.

"You've been very quiet lately."

"Is that a bad thing?"

He looked at me for two seconds, as if trying to confirm something, before finally dropping a sentence: "Keep it that way." He turned and went back to the master suite.

Standing in the hallway, I almost laughed out loud.

He didn't know that this house was no longer his. By the time the money hit my account, he wouldn't even be able to catch my shadow.