“And her?”

Laurel’s question hung between them.

Nolan Pierce glanced at Camille Westcott, then back at his pregnant wife.

“What about her?”

“Is she the reason our marriage stopped working?”

Camille smiled before Nolan could answer.

“Sometimes, Laurel, a man simply realizes he deserves more.”

Laurel looked at the woman who had just poured champagne over her pregnant stomach.

Then she looked at her husband.

“Do you love her?”

Nolan’s silence lasted three seconds.

Three seconds that ended five years of marriage.

“Yes,” he finally said.

Somewhere behind Laurel, a woman gasped.

Camille’s smile widened.

But Laurel didn’t cry.

She simply nodded.

“Then I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Nolan frowned.

“What?”

“Congratulations. You finally found someone who appreciates the man you’ve become.”

Something in her voice unsettled him.

“Laurel, don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything.”

She reached into her small evening bag and removed a folded white envelope.

“I came tonight to give you this.”

Nolan stared at it.

“What is it?”

“A Christmas present.”

Camille laughed.

“How sweet. Even after everything, she’s still trying.”

Laurel ignored her.

“Open it tomorrow morning, Nolan. Not tonight.”

He didn’t take the envelope.

“Whatever this is, we can discuss it at home.”

Laurel looked at him for a long moment.

“Which home?”

His expression changed.

“What does that mean?”

“The penthouse? The house in Connecticut? Or the apartment you rented for Camille on East Seventy-Third Street?”

Camille’s smile disappeared.

Nolan went rigid.

“How do you know about that apartment?”

Laurel’s answer was almost gentle.

“You’ve forgotten who used to organize your life.”

She placed the envelope beside his whiskey glass.

Then she turned toward the ballroom exit.

“Laurel!”

Nolan caught her wrist.

She stopped.

“You’re seven months pregnant,” he hissed. “You’re not walking out of here alone.”

Laurel looked down at his hand.

“Let go.”

“Stop embarrassing yourself.”

“Nolan.”

Her voice was so quiet that he leaned closer.

“You’ve already embarrassed me enough for both of us.”

He released her.

Camille crossed her arms.

“Where exactly are you going? You don’t have a job. You don’t have your own money. Everything you wear belongs to the Pierce family.”

Laurel turned back.

For the first time that evening, she smiled.

“Then I suppose you’ll enjoy discovering how little I need.”

She walked away.

Nobody stopped her.

Not even her husband.

Outside Halcyon Hall, snow had begun falling over Manhattan.

Laurel stood beneath the entrance canopy, trembling as the cold reached the champagne-soaked fabric.

Her daughter kicked again.

“I know, sweetheart,” she whispered. “We’re leaving.”

A black car pulled up.

The driver stepped out immediately.

“Mrs. Pierce?”

Laurel nodded.

“Mr. Vale sent me.”

Her expression softened.

“Thank you.”

The driver opened the rear door.

Inside sat an elderly woman wearing a dark green coat and a pearl brooch shaped like a tiny bird.

She looked at Laurel’s stained dress.

Then at her swollen eyes.

“Oh, my darling.”

Laurel climbed inside.

The woman reached for her hand.

“Did he hurt you?”

Laurel swallowed.

“Not physically.”

The woman’s jaw tightened.

“That was not what I asked.”

And suddenly, after holding herself together through the entire ballroom humiliation, Laurel began to cry.

The elderly woman pulled her close.

“Let it out.”

For several minutes, neither spoke.

Then the woman opened her handbag and produced a small silver key.

“Your grandfather wanted you to have this when you were ready.”

Laurel stared at it.

“Grandmother, I told you. I don’t want his money.”

“This isn’t money.”

“What is it?”

“A door.”

Laurel frowned.

“To what?”

Her grandmother looked out at the falling snow.

“To the life you were supposed to have before Nolan Pierce convinced you to make yourself smaller.”

Laurel closed her fingers around the key.

Across Manhattan, Nolan was still standing in the ballroom when his phone vibrated.

A message from his chief financial officer.

URGENT. THE BOARD HAS CALLED AN EMERGENCY MEETING FOR 8 A.M.

Nolan frowned.

Another message arrived.

THE WESTCOTT AGREEMENT HAS BEEN SUSPENDED.

He called immediately.

“What the hell is going on?”

His CFO sounded frightened.

“Sir, there’s been a change in the controlling trust.”

“What controlling trust?”

A pause.

“The one that owns the waterfront development rights.”

Nolan gripped his phone.

“That’s impossible. Those rights belong to Pierce Urban Holdings.”

“No, sir.”

The man’s next words made Nolan’s blood run cold.

“We’ve been operating under a licensing agreement for eleven years.”

Nolan stared at the ballroom.

“With whom?”

His CFO hesitated.

“That’s what we’re trying to establish.”

At that exact moment, Camille approached him.

“Darling, the photographers are waiting.”

Nolan barely heard her.

Because his CFO had just said something else.

“And Nolan?”

“What?”

“The trust’s legal representative has requested that you be removed from tomorrow’s presentation.”

“On whose authority?”

The answer came quietly.

“Your wife’s.”

Nolan slowly lowered his phone.

Twenty minutes earlier, Laurel Pierce had walked out of the ballroom looking like a woman who had lost everything.

Now someone was telling him she could stop a four-billion-dollar deal.

And for the first time in their marriage, Nolan realized he might know almost nothing about the woman he had married.