Chapter 4

She stopped. Took a breath. Pushed the nausea down. Opened the door.

The air in the office was thick.

Celine, half-undressed, was perched on the edge of the desk, her skirt hiked up around her waist, facing the doorway.

Damon had his back to the door, shirt rumpled.

Celine's eyes met Magpie's without flinching. Something bright and defiant in them.

Then, in the next second, she cried out softly and ducked into Damon's chest.

Damon paused. His brow furrowed, barely perceptible.

There wasn't a trace of panic at being caught by his wife. He just straightened his clothes.

He nudged Celine a little behind him, lit a cigarette at his own pace, and finally looked up at Magpie.

"What brings you by?" His voice was lazy. "Need something?"

Magpie wasn't going to look at either of them a moment longer. She pulled up the trust statement and held it up.

"The trust fund's almost empty. That you?"

Before Damon could answer, Celine spoke from behind him, all timid apology.

"Mr. Sterling, I'm so sorry. If it weren't for my contract penalty, we wouldn't have needed to touch the little one's money at all. I made Mrs. Sterling so upset…"

"It's my fault…"

Damon patted the back of Celine's hand to calm her, then finally raised his eyes to Magpie.

"Don't get so worked up. At the birthday party, you humiliated her in front of everyone. She's got thin skin. Cried for days."

"This money, think of it as my way of apologizing to her on Wren's behalf. Bad luck bought off. Yeah?"

Compensation? Taking their daughter's money and using it to pay off a mistress?

A dull roar filled Magpie's ears. Her vision darkened for a heartbeat.

She had believed that no matter how much of a bastard Damon was, at least he was a good father to Wren.

The facts had just slapped that belief out of her hands and ground it under their heel.

A knock at the door.

"Mr. Sterling, your meeting is starting."

Damon pulled his shirt straight and walked toward the door with Celine tucked against him.

He paused as he passed Magpie. A careless line thrown over his shoulder.

"Come on, don't pull that face. I had my assistant order the new jewelry collection. It'll be at the house later. Call it my apology to our daughter."

Then he was gone, pulling the door open and stepping through.

The office was left with the last of the heated air and Magpie.

She looked around at the familiar furnishings. Dimly, she remembered she and Damon had once had a few sweet moments in this very room.

Now all she could think of was how many women he'd had in here since.

Whatever sincerity she'd held for him, after all these years, came back as nothing but the taste of bile.

The apology jewelry arrived at the Greenwich mansion the next day. Magpie didn't even look. She had the nanny put the boxes in storage.

She didn't press Damon about the money. She didn't react to Celine.

Damon seemed to read her silence as surrender.

He stopped coming home entirely. He lived in Celine's orbit. The gossip columns ran with them nonstop.

Celine went from nowhere-starlet to Manhattan's new It Girl overnight. Her past got dug up.

The comment sections were a feeding frenzy.

"Wait. They were together for three months before he got married? That's literally the longest relationship this guy's ever had."

"Five years later and he still takes her back. And she's the only one now. Impressive, actually."

"Honestly, when Damon was chasing his current wife, same thing. Cut every loose end, gave her everything she wanted. History rhymes, huh."

History rhymes.

That phrase was a key. It turned the lock on a memory Magpie hadn't wanted to open.

She went still for a moment.

When Damon had chased her, he'd ended every dirty association. All of Manhattan had known he'd loved her senseless.

He'd fought people for her. He'd burned through money for her.

And when Eleanor had saved her mother, the condition had been straightforward. Magpie had agreed.

Eleanor had said only she could hold Damon down.

Magpie had believed it too. Believed she was the exception, the harbor he'd come home to.

Looking back now, it was funny.

She threw her weight back into her own work. The composition studio she'd built before the marriage.

A brand launch event she'd been developing was coming up in a few days. It was the studio's most important project of the year.

Magpie had poured herself into it. She'd personally booked an Oscar-winning actress to guest the event, to lift the brand's profile.

On the day of the event, the spotlights came up, the emcee's voice went bright and warm, and the woman who walked onto that stage was Celine, beaming.

Magpie froze in place. She couldn't rush up and break the flow of the event.

Damon had slipped in at some point. He was standing beside her now with a glass of something in his hand.

She knew instantly whose move this was. Her expression changed.

"Damon. What gave you the right to replace my booked guest?"

"Keep the opportunity in the family. Celine's on a hot streak. Visibility is high, image is clean. Let her get some face time, she brings the press along."

"We're husband and wife. Your resources are my resources. Why draw the line? I've been trying to figure out what to do for her. This works. Call it a favor for your husband, yeah?"

"She generates revenue for you, too. Call it offset on the trust fund we used."