“I'm sorry. I can't drink.” Every glass paused midair. Marion turned toward the voice. Nadia sat beside Julian, her wine untouched, her hands folded in her lap. She was Julian's childhood friend, a constant presence at family gatherings, familiar enough that her attendance tonight hadn't seemed unusual. Celeste lowered her glass. “Why not?” Nadia smiled, shy and almost embarrassed, then rested a hand over her stomach. “Because I'm pregnant.” Silence. Then the table erupted. Thomas Hart had been halfway through a toast to Julian's latest business deal. Now his face glowed with a different kind of pride. He reached across the table to shake his son's hand, his voice thick with emotion. “A grandchild. Julian, my boy. You've made me so proud.” Eleanor pushed back her chair with a cry of delight. She rounded the table and cupped Nadia's face in her hands. “Finally. We've been waiting so long.” Celeste laughed and rushed to embrace Nadia. “I can't believe it! This is wonderful news!” Marion didn't move. She was staring at Julian. He wasn't surprised. He was smiling, a strange, relieved smile. When his eyes met hers for a moment, she saw something she couldn't name. He already knew. “How long have you known?” Marion asked. Her voice was quiet, barely audible above the celebration. The laughter and chatter faded. Julian's smile disappeared, but he didn't answer. Marion looked around the table. Thomas suddenly found his wineglass fascinating. Eleanor's expression had become guarded. Celeste stepped away from Nadia and folded her arms. They weren't surprised. Everyone had known except her. Marion's stomach turned as she looked at her own parents. Patricia was staring down at her plate. Robert watched her with an expression that was almost resigned. “Is the baby yours?” Marion asked. Julian looked directly at her. “Yes.” No hesitation. No apology. Marion's throat tightened. “We've been trying for years, Julian.” The words came out raw. “Years.” Eleanor's voice cut through the silence. “And we've waited long enough.” Marion turned toward her. Eleanor's face was calm and composed. There was no anger in it, only a quiet certainty that somehow made her words worse. “The Hart family needs an heir,” Eleanor said. Her hand came to rest on Nadia's stomach. “You can't blame us for wanting a child, Marion.” Wanting a child. As if Marion hadn't spent years wanting exactly that. As if she hadn't cried in bathrooms, swallowed vitamins and scheduled intimacy like a business meeting, desperate to give Julian the child everyone expected. She couldn't speak. She stared at Eleanor's hand resting on Nadia's stomach and felt the last of her hope go still. Then Julian reached beside his plate. Marion watched, almost detached, as his fingers closed around a manila envelope. He slid it across the table toward her. The paper whispered against the white tablecloth before stopping beside her wineglass. “We're getting divorced,” Julian said. Marion stared at the envelope. Her name was already printed on the front, her full legal name typed in crisp black letters. She looked up. “You brought divorce papers to your family's dinner?” “I've already made my decision.” The room fell silent again. Everyone was watching her, waiting to see what she would do. Celeste spoke, her voice bright and practical. “We'll have to decide when to announce the engagement. Timing is everything with these things.” “Celeste.” Thomas's voice sharpened. “Not now.” But the damage was done. The engagement. Marion looked at Julian, at the man who had stood beside her in a church six years ago and promised to love her until death. “You're getting engaged?” He didn't answer. That silence told her everything. The woman sitting beside him wasn't merely his childhood friend anymore. She was already being positioned as Marion's replacement. His new wife. The mother of his heir. Marion looked around the table. Eleanor's hand was still resting on Nadia's stomach. Thomas was studying his wineglass. Celeste had suddenly become very interested in the tablecloth. Nobody defended her. Marion turned to her parents. “Say something, Mum.” Patricia's expression was pained, but she remained silent. Robert wouldn't meet her eyes. “Dad?” The word came out smaller than Marion intended. Robert cleared his throat. “Marion, don't make a scene.” The words hurt more than she expected. Patricia reached across the table and covered Marion's hand with hers. “We'll discuss everything at home, darling. Just don't make things difficult.” Marion looked down at her mother's hand, at the perfectly manicured nails and the thin gold wedding band. She understood. Her parents weren't going to fight Julian either. Julian pushed the envelope slightly closer. Marion stood so abruptly that her chair crashed backward onto the floor. The sound shattered the silence. She didn't scream. She didn't slap Julian. She didn't give them the satisfaction of watching her fall apart. She simply turned and walked away. The divorce papers remained on the table. “Marion!” Her mother's voice followed her, sharp with panic. Marion kept walking. She was halfway down the front path when footsteps hurried after her. “Marion, wait. Please.” Patricia caught up, her face flushed, her eyes bright with distress. “Your father's bringing the car around. Come on, darling. Let's go home.” For the first time that evening, relief touched Marion. Her mother had followed her. She had left that table and come after her. Her father was bringing the car. They were taking her home, back to the place where she had grown up. Maybe everything wasn't lost. Marion allowed herself to be led toward the driveway. Robert's car was already idling there, its headlights cutting through the darkness. She climbed into the back seat without a word. The door closed behind her. They drove away in silence. Marion stared out the window as the Hart house grew smaller behind them. She was shaking, but she didn't cry. She waited for comfort. For anger on her behalf. For anything that would remind her that she wasn't completely alone. Her father spoke first. “You need to cooperate with the divorce.” Marion's head snapped up. “What?” Robert's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “Our family has significant business interests connected to the Harts. A messy divorce could damage those interests.” Marion stared at him. “That's why you came after me?” Patricia turned in her seat, her expression gentle but firm. “We're trying to think about what's best for everyone.” “What about what's best for me?” Her mother looked away. Robert's jaw tightened. “Julian has made his decision, and you need to accept it.” “What about what he did to me?” Neither parent answered. Marion looked at the back of her father's head, then at the familiar curve of her mother's shoulder. They weren't going to protect her. They were going to protect their business. “Stop the car.” Robert kept driving. “Marion, calm down.” “Stop the car.” Her voice shook. Robert sighed. “Don't be ridiculous.” “Stop the goddamn car!” The car pulled over with a jerk. Marion fumbled with the door handle and stumbled out onto the roadside. Cool night air struck her face. She stood beneath a flickering streetlight, one hand gripping the door for balance. For a moment, she thought her mother might get out and come after her. Instead, the passenger window rolled down. Robert's hand emerged, holding the manila envelope. He tossed it onto the roadside. The envelope struck the asphalt. The papers spilled across the ground. “Don't make things difficult for all of us because of your pride,” he said. Marion stared at him. Robert's expression remained hard. “Remember, we have business with the Harts.” The window rolled up. The car pulled away. Marion stood beneath the streetlight, watching the taillights disappear into the darkness. The night was quiet. In the distance, she could hear the hum of traffic and the whisper of wind through the trees. She looked down at the divorce papers scattered around her shoes. Then she knelt and gathered them one by one. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes remained dry. For six years, she'd tried to be the perfect Hart wife. She'd smiled when she was tired, laughed when she was hurting and bent herself into every shape they demanded. Tonight, they had made one thing clear. She was no longer wanted. Marion straightened, clutching the papers to her chest. She would sign them. She wouldn't take Julian's money. She wouldn't beg him to reconsider. She would walk away from the Hart family with nothing but what belonged to her. Asteria.

The divorce papers were still clutched in her hand when she walked through the door. The house was quiet. It was always quiet now. It had been for months, if she was honest with herself. She'd just stopped noticing. Marion walked through the rooms without turning on the lights. Past the living room where she'd hosted dinner parties for Julian's colleagues. Past the study where he'd spent more and more evenings, claiming work, claiming exhaustion, claiming anything that kept him away from her. She went to the bedroom. Her wedding ring caught the moonlight as she moved. She looked at it for a long moment—the diamond, the gold band, the promise it represented. She pulled the ring off and set it on the nightstand beside the divorce papers. The marriage ended before she signed anything. She pulled a suitcase from the closet and opened it on the bed. Then she started sorting through her things. She left behind the expensive dresses, jewelry and gifts that belonged to the life she'd built as Mrs. Julian Hart. What went into the suitcase were the things that had always been hers. Comfortable clothes, her running shoes and a few books she'd owned long before she met Julian. Then, at the back of the closet, she found her old sketchbook. She opened it slowly. The drawings were rough. Amateur. But they were hers. She'd stopped painting a few years into her marriage. It wasn't a deliberate decision or because Julian had forbidden it. She'd simply stopped making room for it. There was always something else to do: a dinner to host, an event to attend, a family gathering. Marion closed the sketchbook and placed it in the suitcase. Her laptop was on the desk in the corner. She hadn't opened it in days. But now she sat down and logged into an email account she hadn't checked in weeks. Asteria. The inbox was fuller than she'd expected. Messages from collectors. Inquiries from galleries and a recent email from her agent asking whether she was ready to work again. And at the bottom was an email she'd been avoiding since she first received it weeks ago. 'The collector is still interested. He wants to know if you're ready to accept the commission.' Marion stared at the screen. Asteria was her painting persona and the one thing Julian had never had access to. He thought her painting was messy and amateurish. A year into their marriage, she'd moved her studio into the shed. By their third wedding anniversary, she'd stopped painting altogether, keeping Asteria alive through the paintings she'd already created. She typed a response to her agent immediately. 'Does the collector have any requests?' By midnight, she was done packing and the papers were still on the nightstand. Marion brought them to the kitchen table and spread them out. She read through every page, down to the signature line at the bottom. Then she reached the financial settlement. The figures were substantial. She could take the money and never worry about anything again. But she thought about the year Julian's company couldn't make payroll and she'd given him the profits from her paintings. Not as a loan or an investment, but as a gift, because he was her husband and she believed his success was their future. She'd believed his success was their success. She realized now that it had never been theirs at all. Marion picked up the pen and signed her name at the bottom of the divorce agreement. Then she wrote a note refusing the settlement. --- The next morning, Julian came to the house while Marion sat at the kitchen table. He let himself in without knocking, stopping in the doorway when he saw her suitcase in the living room. "You're leaving," he said. "I'm leaving." He studied her for a moment. Then he noticed the papers on the kitchen table. "Have you signed the papers?" "I have." Marion checked her phone. Her ride was on the way. He walked toward the table and picked up the agreement, going through the clauses before reaching her final note. "You're really going to be petulant about the money?" "I don't want it." "Marion, that's ridiculous. It's what you're entitled to." She looked at him and laughed without humor. "I want you to be financially secure, Marion. We're not enemies here." She laughed again. "I don't want your money, Julian. You're better off spending it on your new family." "Is that what this is about? Your self-righteousness?" "You betrayed me, Julian," she said quietly. "After everything we've been through." He scoffed and threw his hands up. "Get down from your cross, Marion. We both know this marriage was over before Nadia ever came into the picture." Her eyes widened at his words, but she took a deep breath and gathered her composure. "I've signed your papers. I don't want your money." "You'll regret playing the martyr." Her phone buzzed. Her ride was here. She picked up her suitcase. "The only thing I regret is ever meeting you, Julian." Marion rolled her suitcase to the front door, brushing past him as she left. She didn't look back once as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her. The car was waiting at the curb. The driver took her suitcase and loaded it into the trunk. She slid into the back seat. She refreshed her email and saw a new message from her agent. 'The collector confirmed. He's very interested in the commission and he has no particular requests. When can you start?' Marion relaxed into her seat as the car pulled away from the house. She typed out a response. 'Now.’

The Beaumont Global boardroom was quiet. The meeting had ended twenty minutes ago, most of the directors filing out with the usual pleasantries and handshakes. Bastien had stayed behind, reviewing the final documents from the Meridian acquisition deal. His grandfather sat at the head of the table, still in his seat, watching him with those sharp eyes that had never missed anything. "You handled the acquisition well," Emile Beaumont said. Bastien looked up. "Thank you." "The board was impressed. Particularly the way you managed the regulatory complications. Richard said it was the cleanest negotiation he'd seen in years." Bastien nodded, waiting. There was something else coming. He could feel it. "However," Emile continued, "the board has begun to reconsider certain assumptions." Bastien set down his pen. "What assumptions?" "Assumptions about your succession." The word hung in the air between them. Bastien had always been the obvious successor. He'd spent years learning every division of Beaumont Global, building relationships with major stakeholders and proving himself capable of handling the pressure that came with leading the company. "What about it?" "Antoine has been attending board meetings and he's made some interesting contributions. Several members are impressed." Bastien kept his expression neutral. "Antoine has been attending meetings for three months. I've been running major divisions of this company for ten years." "Seniority isn't the only consideration." Emile leaned forward. "The board wants to see that you're prepared for the responsibilities that come with leading this family. Not just the business." Bastien understood. "Marriage," he said flatly. "Among other things." Emile's voice remained calm. "They want stability. They want to see that you're prepared for the responsibilities that come with being the head of this company." Bastien leaned back in his chair. "Since when does my marital status determine whether I can run a company?" "It doesn't determine it. But the board is entitled to consider the image and stability of the person who will eventually lead Beaumont Global." "So I'm supposed to get married to reassure a group of executives?" "You're supposed to put your best foot forward." Bastien stared at him. "And how long do I have?" "Six weeks, if you do not want your cousin at the altar before you." "Six weeks?" "Yes. If you fail to make the right step, then the board will begin considering other candidates." Bastien's jaw clenched. "This is ridiculous." "What is ridiculous, Bastien, is how fixated you seem on refusing to build your personal life." "Well, I've been too busy building this company." Emile rose, leaning his weight on his cane. "I built this company, Grandson. And while your contributions are duly acknowledged, the board has made its stance clear. Your cousin has announced his engagement, and he is positioning himself correctly." Bastien scoffed. "So is it all about appearances?" "No. It's about balancing the two aspects of your life. At your age, I was running this company while already married to your grandmother." Emile walked slowly toward the door, his slight lilt to the left more noticeable now. "I found the balance then and you must find it now, Bastien." He left. Bastien remained in the boardroom, staring daggers into the empty chairs. He had six weeks to find a wife if he didn't want Antoine in his office. --- Bastien found Antoine in the hallway outside the executive offices. His cousin was leaning against the wall, phone in hand, a smile playing at his lips. "Bastien," Antoine said, pocketing his phone. "Good meeting." "You were in there for half of it," Bastien muttered. "I had a prior commitment. But I heard the Meridian deal went well. Congratulations." "Thank you." Antoine fell into step beside him as they walked toward the elevators. "Amelie sends her regards," Antoine said casually. "She's been busy with the wedding arrangements. Apparently, the florist is having a crisis about peonies." "That sounds difficult." "It is." Antoine smiled. "But aren't those the kind of problems we want at this point of our lives?" Bastien gave him a flat look and Antoine laughed. The elevator arrived and they stepped inside. "We're entering a new phase, Bastien, and things may take a surprising turn for both of us," Antoine said. Bastien nodded. "Thankfully, I'm unfazed by surprises." Antoine laughed and glanced at his phone again. "We'll see." "That, we will." The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and Antoine stepped out first, then turned back. "I'll see you at the family brunch on Sunday. Hopefully, you'll get to meet Amelie properly." Bastien gave him a tight smile and nodded. "Of course." Antoine walked away, a visible spring in his step. --- The penthouse was quiet when Bastien arrived home. He walked through the rooms without turning on the lights. Past the living room, where three Asteria paintings hung on the walls. He'd just commissioned another a few days ago. It was a small consolation from the deadline hanging over his head.