Chapter 1The Velvet Trap

The day Damian Thorne and I finalized our divorce, I was three months pregnant.

Divorce papers in one hand, his long-lost love in the other, he sneered at me. "Claire, you really think I can't live without you? Let me tell you something—you don't control me."

I saw the woman on his arm, Sienna, shift uncomfortably. I offered him a soft, almost pitying smile. "Damian, everything has always come so easily to you. That's why you never learned to cherish anything. It's rare to get a second chance with your first love. I hope you find the happiness you're looking for."

From sixteen to twenty-eight. For twelve long years, I'd catered to his every whim. I was just so, so tired.

* * *

I collapsed at my desk after pulling an all-nighter. My junior colleague, Lily, rushed me to the hospital.

Clutching my lab results, her expression was a tangled mess of emotions. "Claire… you're pregnant. Three months along."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she threw her arms around me, her voice trembling. "Did something terrible happen to you? Please tell me."

Her dramatic fear made me chuckle. "No, nothing like that," I said softly. "I've actually been married for three years. I'm sorry I never told you."

To all my colleagues and friends, I was single. Some things, I'd simply never felt the need to mention.

"You scared me to death!" Lily swatted my shoulder, her pout adorable. "I was worried sick! Marriage is a huge deal, how could you keep it from me?"

I smiled. "I may have kept the wedding a secret, but you're the first to know about the divorce. How's that for an exclusive?"

Lily froze for a second, then burst into tears all over again.

She was such a sweet girl, young and full of tears.

"Hey, no more crying. I have the day off tomorrow, a rare treat. Let me drive you home."

She clung to me, sobbing dramatically. "I want to see the face of the son of a bitch who broke your heart! How could anyone be cruel to someone as gentle as you?"

I dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue, a curious thought popping into my head. "What if... what if I was the one who broke his heart?"

"No way!" Lily said, her loyalty fierce and unwavering. "You're too kind, too beautiful. You speak so softly… The first time I met you, I was afraid to even talk too loud, scared I'd startle you. And for three years, you've known I'm bad at staying hydrated, so you bought a little electric kettle just to brew fruit tea for me, every single day."

The more she spoke, the harder she cried. "Forget him! Good riddance to bad rubbish! You're out with the old and in with the new. Our Claire deserves better! The best!"

In the end, I was the one comforting her, patting her back until she finally calmed down enough for me to put her in a cab home.

I suppose I’ve always been good at soothing people. I’d had twelve years of practice with Damian.

When I got home, the living room lights were on.

The man on the sofa shot me a look of pure displeasure. "Three in the morning, Mrs. Thorne. Care to offer an explanation?"

I hadn't seen him in three months. He was a little thinner. The financial news had been full of his latest successful acquisition abroad; Damian’s talent was never in question.

I brewed a pot of herbal tea, the fragrant steam filling the air. As I poured him a cup, the tight line of his jaw seemed to relax, ever so slightly.

He glanced at me, his words still sharp. "Don't think you can distract me. You've been pulling that trick since we were kids, Claire. Whenever you don't want to answer a question, you offer tea."

A small, genuine smile touched my lips. He did know me, at least a little.

I waited for him to finish his cup, then retrieved the divorce agreement from the drawer and handed it to him.

Damian’s handsome brows shot up. He flipped through the pages, a cold laugh escaping him. "How considerate of you. You're leaving with nothing? The press would have a field day, make it sound like Damian Thorne mistreated his wife."

My voice was even, placid. "In our three years of marriage, I made no financial contributions. You bought the house, the cars, furnished everything. If you're worried about public opinion, we can agree on a story to tell."

"Oh, thank you so much for your consideration!" he snarled, his face a mask of fury.

He snatched a pen, scrawled his name across the signature line, and slammed the document on the floor before storming out of the house.

I sat on the sofa, calmly finishing the rest of the tea.

An hour later, my phone buzzed. It was a picture from Sienna.

Damian, in a plush bathrobe, holding a glass of red wine, lounging languidly on a sofa.

I swiped up. Another picture of him, this one from three months ago. He was flushed from wine, his head resting in Sienna’s lap, just like when they were children.

Sienna’s text read: Claire, you stole a love that wasn't yours. It's time to give it back.

I typed my reply, imagining the fury it would ignite. She was always so proud, so easily wounded.

Don't get too comfortable. I am the one he married, the one the Thornes recognize as Mrs. Thorne. As long as we're not divorced, you're nothing but the other woman, hiding in the shadows.

Stole her love? That wasn't quite right.

The moment I saw Damian Thorne at sixteen, my only thought was how to pluck that magnificent, untouchable flower from the heavens and plant it in my own garden.

And now, after twelve years of admiring it, I was done.