Chapter 1

As the New Year's Eve countdown hit zero, Magpie Ashford received her first gift of the year.

A photograph of her husband tangled up with another woman.

Ten minutes earlier, he'd been holding their daughter up to watch the fireworks. Ten minutes later, he was in bed with someone else.

Almost simultaneously, the headline "Sterling Heir Caught in New Year's Eve Rendezvous with Rising Starlet" exploded across every tabloid feed.

In the grand hall of the Sterling estate, every guest at the party turned in perfect unison, eyes locked on Magpie, waiting for her reaction.

"Mrs. Sterling…" Her assistant stepped forward nervously.

"Do you want me to push the story the usual way? Make it blow up harder?"

Magpie's voice was flat. "No. Call PR. Bury it."

The assistant froze.

The whispered murmurs around the hall cut off for a heartbeat, then erupted twice as loud.

"Did she just say bury it? Am I hearing that right?"

"She used to be the one begging the whole city to see him humiliated."

"Exactly. Last time he got photographed making out with some model in a car, she had someone take a sledgehammer to the Lamborghini."

"Valentine's Day was worse. The party wasn't even over and his yacht was already on fire."

"Every time, Damon just lets her tantrum, lets her wear herself out, then goes right back to cheating. She's finally figured out the wild-woman act doesn't keep a man. New strategy. Playing the gracious wife now, swallowing it down."

The comments were made without any attempt to lower their voices. Magpie ignored all of it and calmly moved the party along on schedule.

Everyone assumed she'd simply given up on the tantrums because they hadn't worked, and she was trying a new angle.

But the truth was simpler. Two years of it. She was tired.

Once the party wound down, she carried her sleeping daughter Wren upstairs to bed, then turned and went to the study.

She knocked. Eleanor Sterling sat on the sofa, rubbing her temples.

"Mom," Magpie said softly.

Eleanor looked up, guilt written plainly across her face. "Magpie, sweetheart. I'm so sorry you have to go through this. I'm calling that idiot right now."

The line connected. She pressed speaker.

"Damon. Where the hell are you on New Year's Eve? Get home. Now."

The background on his end was loud, giggling female voices tangled up in it. Damon's voice came through lazy and unbothered.

"Mom, I'm busy. I'll come by tomorrow and apologize."

"The girl's birthday is today. I promised I'd cut the cake with her. Oh, and tell Magpie I thought she handled tonight really well. Grown-up. Finally starting to look like a Mrs. Sterling. Tell her to keep it up. Gotta go."

Eleanor's chest heaved. She threw the phone down on the sofa.

"That piece of trash."

But Magpie gave a quiet laugh, her gaze steady. "Mom, I didn't come up here for justice."

Eleanor went still.

Magpie's voice stayed soft. "Five years ago, my mother was in end-stage liver failure. You gave up half of your liver to save her. That kind of mercy, I'll never forget it."

"So when you said back then that I was the only one who could tie Damon down, that I could make him settle, I agreed."

"And I did. I pulled it off. But the moment Wren turned one, he went right back to what he was. Two years. I've lost my mind, thrown fits, humiliated myself every way a woman can. You protected me through all of it. And I still couldn't hold him."

Eleanor let out a long breath and took Magpie's cold fingers in her own.

"You poor girl. I was the one who tied you down with a debt. Whatever you want, tell me, I'll make it happen."

Magpie pulled a document from her clutch and slid it across.

"I want a divorce. And full custody of Wren."

Eleanor's expression flickered. She was quiet for a long moment, then nodded.

"Alright. I'll handle it myself. Just stay with me another two weeks."

Magpie smiled faintly, nodded, and turned to go.

Her hand was on the door handle when Eleanor spoke behind her, almost to herself.

"You know, back then, Damon was the one who fell for you at first sight. He came begging me, said he had to marry you, no one else…"

Magpie's step faltered, barely perceptible.

Damon had loved her, once. Really.

The most reckless playboy in Manhattan, he'd cut every wrong contact, learned how to belong to one woman. For her.

When he proposed, he'd slid a notarized document across the table. "Everything I own goes to you. I go to you."

The night Wren was born, labor had gone wrong. For the first time in his life Damon had believed in God, eyes red, bargaining half his own lifespan for her safety.

He had, with his own hands, given her every exception and every privilege. He'd made the whole world believe in the fairy tale of the reformed playboy.

But sincerity, as it turned out, was the most fragile thing in this world.

She went down the stairs. Her phone lit up.

A large wire transfer from Damon, with a note attached.

"Everyone's saying you've turned over a new leaf, learned your manners? Really? Feels weird. Not like you."

"I'm at The Abyss. The club you had shut down last month, the one that just reopened."

"Suite v888. Come bring me protection."