The rain was falling hard outside the Manhattan courthouse when my husband handed me our divorce settlement and told me to sign it. Harrison stood beneath an umbrella with Khloe, the woman he had been sleeping with, while half my coat was left exposed to the freezing rain. Khloe pressed herself against him as though she were the one who needed protection, then glanced at me with a look she quickly disguised as concern. “Harrison, do you think Caroline will hate me?” she asked softly. He rubbed her back and said, “She won’t. You can’t force love.”

“What is that?”

“An invitation.”

“To what?”

He placed it beside my coffee.

I looked down.

Harrison Cole and Khloe Bennett request the pleasure of your company.

I stared at it.

Then at Carter.

“Is this a joke?”

“I made two calls.”

“And?”

“It appears genuine.”

“Why would he invite me?”

“There is a handwritten note.”

I opened the envelope.

A small card slid out.

Caroline,

Khloe thought inviting you would show there are no hard feelings.

I hope you can be happy for us.

Harrison.

I read it twice.

Carter remained silent.

Finally I handed it to him.

He read it.

His expression did not move, which for Carter was the equivalent of shouting.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it.”

“I value my employment.”

I laughed.

“Carter.”

He carefully placed the card down.

“I find Mr.

Cole’s optimism extraordinary.”

I laughed harder.

The sound surprised me.

A month earlier, receiving that invitation might have broken something inside me.

Now it was merely absurd.

“Send a gift,” I said.

Carter blinked.

“A gift?”

“Yes.”

“For the wedding?”

“Yes.”

He looked genuinely troubled.

“What sort of gift?”

I thought about it.

“Something neutral.”

“That narrows nothing.”

“Towels.”

“Towels.”

“Good towels.”

“All right.”

“No card beyond congratulations.”

“Understood.”

“And decline the invitation.”

“Gladly.”

I picked up my coffee.

Carter gathered the envelope.

At the door he stopped.

“The media are aware of the wedding.”

My cup paused halfway to my mouth.

“Why?”

“Your former marriage is now public information.”

I frowned.

“We never confirmed anything.”

“Public records did.”

Of course.

“Some outlets are framing the story around the timing of the divorce, the market debut, and his remarriage.”

“That is exactly what I didn’t want.”

“Our team has issued no comment.”

“Keep it that way.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want anyone harassing them.”

“I’ll make that clear.”

He left.

I looked at the empty doorway.

The idea of reporters waiting outside Harrison’s wedding disturbed me more than I expected.

I knew what public humiliation felt like.

I had no desire to manufacture it for someone else.

But I had also learned a limit.

I could control myself.

I could control my companies.

I could control what my employees said.

I could not control curiosity.

And Harrison, who had spent years telling me an empire did not matter, was about to discover that the world had become intensely curious about the empire he walked away from.