Chapter 1Love Repositioned

At my sister-in-law’s 21st birthday party, her gift to me was a tainted drink and a set of divorce papers.

“A country girl who never even finished high school has no right to carry a Thorne heir.”

Luna’s voice was cold, a world away from the girl whose brother had knelt with her at my family’s door ten years ago, begging me to save them.

My eyes found Caleb, my husband, but he was too busy, his arm wrapped around another woman as he made his introductions.

But I am his wife. His only wife.

“The ten years are up,” I murmured, a strange weight lifting from my shoulders as I reached for the papers. “It’s time for me to go.”

* * *

By the time I realized my wine had been drugged, a sharp, tearing pain had already seized my womb, and I could feel the warm stickiness of blood.

“For God’s sake, get back to the room and clean yourself up! Stop making a scene!” Caleb hissed, his arm tightening around the other woman, his brow furrowed in irritation.

Blood was starting to pool on the polished marble floor, a dark stain spreading from beneath my dress. The guests recoiled, putting a sudden ten-foot circle of empty space around me, as if I, the girl from the countryside, were carrying some virulent plague.

“You’re not going anywhere until you sign this!” Luna blocked my path, shoving the divorce papers at me. “Nelly, you used that baby to blackmail my brother, to keep him from leaving you. You don’t have any excuses left now, do you?”

I stopped and fixed my gaze on her. She flinched, her shoulders hunching in a flicker of instinctual fear. She’s always been afraid of me. It started with that terrible blizzard ten years ago, when she was just a child, cowering in my arms, too terrified to even sip the broth I offered her.

“Luna, who taught you to drug someone? You can go to your room and…” My words caught in my throat. I’d almost forgotten. By morning, this would no longer be my home to command.

“Forget it. Go explain it to your brother,” I sighed, the fight draining out of me.

Ten years. I’d raised her for ten years, and all it took were a few poisonous whispers from someone else to undo a decade of care.

Back in the room, I showered. The water ran crimson, the bathtub a horrifying tableau of my loss. But as the water swirled down the drain, a profound sense of relief washed over me. It was better this way. Better for the child to be gone than to be born into a family where it would never be wanted.

The bedroom was a scene of total violation. My clothes had been slashed into ribbons, my cosmetics dumped and smeared across the floor. On the vanity mirror, a single, furious message was scrawled in lipstick: GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.

I sat on the edge of the bed and began to painstakingly gather the scattered pieces of my grandmother’s last letter. She had made me promise to only open it on my tenth wedding anniversary, not a minute sooner. And at midnight tonight, it would be exactly ten years since I married Caleb Thorne.

I had little to pack. Most of my clothes and makeup were things Caleb’s assistant had bought for me—gaudy, jewel-encrusted things I never truly liked. When I first came to this city, all I had were Caleb and Luna.

Now, as I prepared to leave, all I had was myself.

After signing the divorce papers, I focused on piecing the letter together. Luna had torn it into confetti, and the work was slow, my fingers trembling. The moment I managed to form the words My Dearest Granddaughter, my vision blurred with tears.

I was more than halfway through when Caleb entered the room, his expression as severe as ever, the scent of whiskey clinging to him.

“Ellie,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I’m drunk.”

It was only when he was like this, lost in the haze of alcohol, that he allowed himself to be vulnerable with me. He bent down, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his cheek brushing against my ear. “Luna’s still young. She doesn’t know any better. You’ll forgive her, won’t you? Be a good wife and make me some soup.”

It was a familiar script, a scene played out on countless drunken nights. He would hold me, whisper sweet nothings, and beg for soup he rarely drank. More often than not, he’d feed it to me from his own lips before pressing me into the mattress, taking what he wanted under the cover of darkness. In the morning, he’d be gone, leaving me with nothing but his back. He could never reconcile the man he was with the "country girl" he slept with. In the dark, he never had to see my tears.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne. You’ll have to ask someone else,” I said, my voice flat. I kept my eyes on the letter, feeling his hands on my shoulders stiffen.

“Nelly, Luna wasn’t wrong,” he said, his tone shifting, becoming patronizing. “You can’t even read a balance sheet, you don’t understand the first thing about business. I work myself to the bone out there, and I need a partner who can help me, not just… wait for me at home.”

“But I never asked for a divorce, did I?”

His voice was like a king granting a pardon, a charity I neither wanted nor needed. Ten years ago, my grandmother had given her life to change his fortune, breaking the laws of nature and dying for it.

Now, her final letter echoed the truth I already felt in my bones: The bond is broken. Do not force what is already gone.