Chapter 6

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when her phone rang and broke the silence. Eleanor.

Magpie drew in a breath and forced her voice to sound normal. "Mom."

"Magpie, sweetheart," Eleanor said, her voice heavy with apology.

"Everything's nearly finalized. Five more days. It'll all be signed through."

"I want you to know. I know Damon is in the wrong. The assets I'm setting aside for you, the lawyers have it clean. You and Wren will not lose a dollar."

"Thank you, Mom."

"One more thing…" Eleanor hesitated.

"Richard's memorial is coming up. The hundred-day gathering. Family tradition. I know I don't have the right to ask you to coordinate it after everything. But he was so fond of you as a daughter-in-law… Would you do this for me one last time?"

Magpie was quiet for a few seconds. Richard had been decent to her. This would be the real goodbye.

"Alright, Mom. I'll handle it."

The day of Richard Sterling's memorial was overcast.

Magpie directed the household staff on the arrangements. It was her respect for the old man who'd treated her with kindness in life.

An engine pulled up outside. Magpie didn't have to turn around to know it was Damon.

He was back. And he wasn't alone.

Celine was on his arm, leaning into his side.

Damon's expression was ordinary, as if bringing her into a setting like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Through the entire memorial service, Magpie and Damon had zero exchange. They didn't even let their eyes meet.

They were, on paper, husband and wife. They looked like strangers.

Celine kept her head down the whole time and stayed glued to Damon's side, physically small, physically deferential.

Once the ceremony concluded, the family moved into the side hall for the traditional vegetarian meal.

A plainspoken aunt, Margaret, finally reached her limit. She set her fork down and let her gaze settle on Celine.

"Damon. I'm not trying to be out of line. But what day is this? We are here to honor your father's hundred-day memorial."

"And you brought an outsider. What does that look like?"

"Magpie is sitting right here. What are the elders of this family supposed to think?"

The words dropped into the room like a stone into still water. The side hall went quiet. Every pair of eyes turned on Celine.

Celine's shoulders gave the tiniest shudder. Her eyes filled.

She looked up at Aunt Margaret, tears pooling, voice trembling.

"I know I shouldn't be here. I don't have any standing. I don't deserve to be in this room…"

She gave a choked sob, and her hand slowly reached into her clutch. She pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

"But I'm pregnant. And he… he's a Sterling."

"I only wanted this baby to be able to pay respects to his grandfather. To let the spirit of the family know… there's another Sterling coming."

The hall was dead silent. You could hear every breath.

Every face in the room changed. Even Damon's. He looked startled.

Celine bit her lip and turned a pleading gaze on him. "I wasn't sure how to tell you. Damon, you won't be angry with me, will you?"

Damon's expression shifted, then he pressed it down and looked at Aunt Margaret.

"If she's carrying a Sterling, then she has the right to pay her respects."

That one sentence, that admission, was a blade going into Magpie's heart, then turning.

In the two years of Damon's running around, it wasn't like no woman had tried to use a pregnancy on him. He'd paid them all off.

He had said to her, once, that no other woman was fit to bear his child. Which was why Wren had always been the only Sterling of her generation.

But Celine was pregnant. And her husband had just acknowledged it.

Magpie held the heat behind her eyes down. She bit the inside of her lip until it broke skin.

Aunt Margaret had gone pale with rage. She pointed at Damon.

"You… you fool. What are Magpie and Wren supposed to do now?"

"Aunt Margaret," Magpie said, and her voice came out unnervingly steady. "Today is Richard's memorial. Don't let my situation disturb his peace."

Damon glanced at her, faintly surprised.

This was different. He'd expected Magpie to bring the house down.

Instead, Magpie stood and looked at Eleanor in the seat of honor, whose face was stone.

"Mom. I'm not feeling well. I'm going to take Wren home. I'm sorry to leave the rest of this to you."

She didn't wait for anyone's reply. She walked over to where her daughter was quietly playing with her toys and took her small hand gently.

Her back, walking away, gave Damon a sudden unease he couldn't place.

But Magpie had spent two years as Manhattan's cautionary tale and hadn't filed for divorce. A woman who loved him like that. What was there to worry about?

"Mommy, are we going?" Wren looked up.

Magpie bent and gathered her daughter into her arms. Wren wrapped her arms around Magpie's neck without hesitation.

"Mm. We're going home."

She brought Wren home, gave the nanny careful instructions, and locked herself in the study.

The divorce was only days out. She didn't want anything else going sideways.

Damon was willing to claim Celine's baby. Fine. Let him. It only made leaving easier.

But before night fell, the nanny was at the study door, frantic, a small recorder in her hand.

"Mrs. Sterling. Mrs. Sterling. Something's happened. Wren's gone."