HE KISSED HIS MISTRESS IN FRONT OF EVERYONE—SO HIS PREGNANT WIFE LEFT DIVORCE PAPERS ON HIS DESK AND VANISHED ON A PRIVATE JET.

Back in Manhattan, the temperature in the penthouse had reached absolute zero, despite the central heating roaring at seventy-two degrees.

"What do you mean we can't get into the French restaurant?!" Lila shrieked, slamming her crocodile-skin handbag onto the marble island in the kitchen. "I am Lila Summers! I was on the cover of *Social Diary* this morning!"

Andrew sat at the dining table, surrounded by empty coffee cups, crumpled spreadsheets, and four different mobile phones that had not stopped vibrating for ten straight hours.

His eyes were bloodshot, his tie undone, his five-o’clock shadow dark and unkempt.

"Shut up about the damn restaurant, Lila!" Andrew roared, slamming his fist onto the table so hard a porcelain cup rattled in its saucer. "We are in the middle of a catastrophic capital flight, and you’re screaming about truffle pasta!"

Lila recoiled, her lower lip trembling with indignant rage. "Don't you dare raise your voice at me! You kissed me on that red carpet! You told me that once you got rid of that boring, frumpy cow, you’d introduce me as your official partner! Now you're hiding in this apartment like a beaten dog while the press makes fun of my dress!"

"I kissed you because I thought I was in control!" Andrew snarled, rising from his chair and towering over her. "I didn't know that my 'boring cow' of a wife was Alexander Sterling’s granddaughter!"

The kitchen went dead silent.

Lila blinked, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. "Alexander Sterling? The... the shipping guy? The billionaire?"

"The multi-billionaire," Andrew spat, running both hands through his hair until it stood on end. "The man who owns half the dry docks in North America and more commercial real estate than the Catholic Church. Emma isn't a farmer’s daughter. She walked away from that family three years ago because the old man disapproved of me. And like an idiot... like a blind, arrogant idiot... I gave her the exact excuse she needed to run straight back to him."

Lila swallowed hard, the color draining from her cheeks. "Well... so what? You're Andrew Weston! You don't need her grandfather! You have your investors!"

"I *had* investors!" Andrew screamed. "Bradley Vance pulled out this morning! The Japanese syndicate canceled their conference call at noon! And ten minutes ago, my managing director received an eviction notice from our landlord! We have thirty days to clear out of 400 Park Avenue!"

Lila stepped back, her eyes darting around the luxurious penthouse. The reality was finally piercing through her shallow vanity. She hadn't latched onto Andrew Weston because she loved his mind; she had latched onto him because he had represented unlimited wealth, private jets, and the pinnacle of New York society.

Now, the floor beneath his feet was visibly rotting away.

"Well... what about the divorce?" Lila asked, her voice dropping into a manipulative purr as she tried a different angle. "She filed, right? She must want money. Fight her for it! Sue her for half the Sterling fortune! You’re her legal husband, Andrew! Under New York law, marital property—"

"Did you read the petition, you illiterate child?!" Andrew barked, picking up the papers and throwing them at her chest. "She isn't asking for a penny! Not a single cent! She specifically waived all rights to equitable distribution, which means under the prenuptial agreement I made her sign, neither of us can touch the other’s pre-marital or inherited assets!"

Andrew sank back into his chair, pressing his palms against his burning eyes.

*I made her sign it,* he thought with sickening irony. *Two years ago, I thought I was protecting my little ten-million-dollar fund from her. I forced her to sign a draconian prenup that completely separated our assets and barred either party from claiming family trusts.*

She hadn't fought him on it then. She had just looked at him with sad, quiet eyes and signed.

She had protected her grandfather’s billions from him without him ever knowing it.

"She played me," Andrew whispered, a hollow feeling opening in his gut. "From the very beginning, she held all the cards, and she let me think I was the king."

"So what are you going to do?" Lila asked, her voice suddenly devoid of affection, turning cold, transactional, and sharp. "Are we going to be poor, Andrew?"

Andrew looked up at her, really looking at her for the first time without the haze of champagne and flattery.

Her beauty was still there, but it looked plastic now. Painted on. There was no warmth behind her green eyes. No gentleness. No quiet intelligence like the woman who used to sit across from him, asking about his dreams rather than his portfolio balance.

"Get out," Andrew said softly.

Lila stiffened. "What?"

"Get your things and get out of my apartment."

"You can't kick me out!" she shrieked. "I blew up my reputation for you! The tabloids are calling me a home-wrecker!"

"You *are* a home-wrecker!" Andrew roared, standing up and kicking his chair back so violently it crashed against the floor. "And I was an idiot who let you wreck it! Get out before I have building security throw your bags onto Park Avenue!"

Twenty minutes later, the front door slammed with a shuddering bang that echoed through the vast, empty penthouse.

Andrew stood alone in the center of the living room.

The rain was falling again, tapping against the glass. He walked over to the corner of the room where Emma used to keep her easel. There was nothing there now except an empty space on the hardwood floor.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened his photo gallery.

Most of the pictures were of him—at galas, on yachts, shaking hands with governors. But buried deep in the roll was a photo from two summers ago. Emma, sitting on a wooden dock in upstate New York, her hair tied back with a blue ribbon, laughing as she held up a wild daisy, her eyes shining with pure, unadulterated adoration.

*“I don’t care about the money, Andrew,”* she had told him that night under the stars. *“I just want us. Just you and me.”*