Chapter 28
I would be honest about our finances.
I would not use his child as a weapon.
But I would not return.
Eventually, he stopped asking.
Months later, the divorce was finalized.
By then, I had moved into a smaller apartment with wide windows and a view of the Hudson.
It wasn't the luxurious home Preston had insisted we needed to impress people.
There was no enormous marble foyer.
No formal dining room that we rarely used.
No expensive artwork chosen to impress investors.
But every corner belonged to a life I was building for myself.
My new position at Ashford Capital came with greater responsibility.
I was leading the strategy team on the portfolio I had spent years developing.
The promotion required work.
Long hours.
Difficult decisions.
Occasional mistakes.
But it was mine.
I no longer had to watch someone else accept praise for my judgment.
And I no longer had to choose between being competent and being visible.
One evening, I came home after a particularly exhausting day.
I took off my shoes.
Placed my handbag on the table.
Then walked into my bedroom.
The midnight-blue gown hung inside my closet.
I hadn't worn it since the gala.
I reached out and touched the silk.
For a moment, I could hear the camera shutters again.
I remembered Cassidy's expression when she saw me.
Preston's panic.
The silence that followed when I stood beneath the ballroom lights.
But those weren't the memories that stayed with me most.
I remembered looking into the mirror before leaving Glass Tower.
I remembered the terrifying moment when I realized I could be seen exactly as I was.
And I remembered choosing not to cover myself.
I took off my blouse and stood before the bedroom mirror.
The scars hadn't disappeared.
They never would.
Some were still sensitive.
Some days they ached.
I still had mornings when I looked at them and felt sad about everything I had lost.
Healing hadn't transformed the burns into something painless or beautiful in every moment.
But it had changed the story I told myself about them.
For years, I thought they were proof that I had become less of a woman.
Preston had encouraged that belief because it made me easier to control.
Now I understood.
The fire had damaged my skin.
It hadn't destroyed my intelligence.
It hadn't erased my dignity.
And it certainly hadn't made me unworthy of respect.