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.”

Chapter 4: The Wedding He Had To Have - DailyFeed
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Chapter 4: The Wedding He Had To Have
On Harrison’s wedding morning, I woke at five thirteen to the sound of rain against my bedroom windows.

For one confused second, I thought I was back in Manhattan.

Then I saw the dark outline of the Washington shoreline and remembered where I was.

The wedding.

I lay still.

I expected pain.

Instead, I felt something softer.

Grief, perhaps, but not for Harrison.

I grieved the version of myself who once believed our marriage would last.

I grieved two young people standing in a tiny apartment eating takeout noodles because they could not afford a restaurant.

I grieved promises made sincerely and broken gradually.

I grieved the man Harrison had been before loving me became a competition he believed he was losing.

But I did not grieve the man marrying Khloe that afternoon.

That man belonged to someone else.

At six, I went downstairs.

Carter was already in the kitchen.

“Do you sleep?”

“Occasionally.”

He poured coffee.

“Anything I need to know?”

He hesitated.

That was never a good sign.

“What?”

“The press has gathered outside the hotel where the wedding is being held.”

“How many?”

“More than I would prefer.”

I set my cup down.

“Did our team send anyone?”

“No.”

“Did anyone from Vance Global brief them?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He slid a tablet across the island.

Several photographs showed reporters behind temporary barriers outside a Manhattan hotel.

The wedding venue was exactly what Harrison had promised Khloe.

Lavish.

White flowers covered the entrance.

Luxury cars pulled beneath the awning.

Guests in formal clothes moved past photographers.

My stomach tightened.

“How much did this cost?”

“I deliberately did not investigate.”

I looked at Carter.

“That means you know.”

“I heard a number.”

“What number?”

“Approximately six hundred thousand dollars.”

I stared at him.

“For one day?”

“Apparently there are several days of related events.”

I almost choked on my coffee.

“Harrison used to complain when I ordered twelve-dollar room service.”

“Marriage is full of mystery.”

I gave him a look.

Carter became serious.

“He may have financed part of it against the brownstone.”

I closed my eyes.

“Of course.”

The four-million-dollar house he fought to keep.

I wanted to be surprised.

I wasn’t.

“Not my problem.”

“No.”

“Do not let anyone from our team speculate about his finances.”

“Already instructed.”