<b>Chapter </b>2


    Finally, <b>I </b>closed the video and sat calmly at the dining table as the staff brought out dinner course by course.


    The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed eight times.


    I looked up at the antique clock Luke had brought me from Paris seven years ago, its pendulum swaying weakly.


    I was seventeen when I got into Columbia, eighteen when I met Luke Harper.


    Back then, he kept a low profile about everything except that face.


    He knew plenty but always yed dumb, constantly saying he’d forgotten everything and needed me to teach him.


    Within two weeks, people who knew him started whispering to me.


    “You think he’s just another pretty face? That’s the Harper Industries heir. His dad’s running for city council.”


    Later, Luke left campus but kept showing up anyway, driving between Columbia and downtown Manhattan every single day just to


    see me.


    Those years were a rollercoaster of fights and making up, my heart opening and closing like a revolving door.


    At twenty–five, after all that back and forth and a hundred obstacles, I married Luke Harper.


    That wedding of the century still gets mentioned in magazines today.


    One small tabloid, desperate for attention, ran a headline so outrageous it overshadowed all the major papers. Great for clicks, terrible for respect.


    The next morning, Luke saw the paper over breakfast<b>, </b>then set his coffee mug right on top of it.


    Later I found out that grand wedding edition turned out to be that tabloid’s final issue.


    Looking back at all those little moments, it’s wild how deeply Luke and I used to love each other.


    But somehow we ended up like that old clock, too tired to even swing properly.


    The silent foyer suddenly came alive as the elevator numbers lit up, stopping at three before the doors slid open.


    Luke stepped out with his suit jacket draped over his arm, the elevator’s harsh lighting doing absolutely nothing to diminish his sharp features.


    I nced over briefly, then focused back on my dinner.


    A minuteter, I heard his jacket hit the couch.


    Then that expensive cologne mixed with his body heat surrounded me instantly.


    Luke stood behind my chair, hands braced on either side of the table, basically trapping me in his arms.


    His voice was <b>casual </b>as ever. “Evening, Mrs. Harper. Let’s see what tonight’s scandal is worth, shall we<b>?</b>”


    He grabbed my phone from the table<b>, </b>scrolling through the messages.


    13:20


    Hell Yeah, Forget the Other Woman, My Smart House Was Cheating On Me<b>! </b>


    <b>14.8</b><b>% </b>


    “Two hundred grand? That’s less than what you spend on dinner. People are gonna think I’m going broke.”


    I set down my fork and straightened my back, keeping that half–fist distance between us and his chest.


    Instead of responding, I changed the subject.


    “I’m not approving Ruby Grant’s application for Marketing Director. I’m rejecting her resume.”


    Sure enough, the second he heard that name, Luke stepped back. That suffocating presence vanished instantly.


    He sat across from me, arms draped over the chair back, staring out at the city lights through the window.


    “Her business is none of your concern.”


    Then Luke’s gaze snapped back to me, chin tilted down.


    “Or are you just jealous of her?”


    I stared straight into his eyes, searching for something that simply wasn’t there anymore.


    Everyone knew Luke had been cycling through girlfriends for two years, but nobody realized it was all cover for Ruby Grant.


    Two years ago, Luke sent her abroad to get some fancy credentials, nning to parachute her into thepany when she returned.


    It wasn’t personal, just business reality.


    Harper Industries had brutal hiring standards. First degree had to be from a top–thirty global university, no exceptions.


    Ruby was a high school dropout who’d worked retail at eighteen. Her overseas diploma was from some diploma mill, and even our diversity initiatives couldn’t find a loophole for her.


    My voice stayed t. “When I’m discussing business, I keep personal feelings out of it.”


    Luke didn’t respond, but after a moment, I heard a voice message ying from his phone.


    The voice was sickeningly sweet.


    “Honey, I left my panties in your car. When can Ie get them?”