Chapter 8

The second message was from Eleanor.

"Magpie. Everything is done. Papers are at the airport. Wren's custody documents are with them. Take care of yourself."

Magpie drew in a breath. Her chest didn't feel crushed anymore. She sent a brief reply.

"Thank you, Mom."

Magpie checked Wren out of the hospital.

The little one leaned into her, small and tired. "Mommy? Are we going home?"

"Yes, baby. We're going home." Magpie kissed her daughter's forehead and carried her to the car.

When they got back to the Greenwich house, the one that had held so many memories, Magpie didn't pause.

She went straight upstairs, into the dressing room, and pulled out a suitcase.

Her movements were fast and clean. Not a second of hesitation.

She packed only what she and Wren needed. A few sentimental keepsakes.

The expensive jewelry, the designer clothes, she left every piece untouched.

The things she'd earned by being Mrs. Sterling, she didn't need.

Finally she let her eyes travel once around the space that had once been called "home." No grief. Nothing.

There had been no warmth here in a long time. Just an elegant shell.

She picked Wren up, pulled the suitcase behind her, walked out the front door without looking back. Got in the car. Drove to the airport.

The plane climbed through cloud. The ground shrank and vanished.

Wren slept against her mother's chest, breathing even.

Magpie watched the window. Every trace of their old life got smaller and smaller and then was gone.

The plane was going to land in a new city. A city with no Damon. No Celine. No suffocation.

Her life with Wren, their new life, was just beginning.

Damon spent three full days camped in Celine's VIP suite at the private clinic.

Her pregnancy finally stabilized.

She curled into him, pale. "I was so scared. Our baby almost…"

"It's okay now." Damon patted her back.

His phone, for three straight days, had been unusually quiet.

After that one "Go ahead", there had been nothing. Not a single message.

That wasn't Magpie.

Or at least, it wasn't the Magpie he knew. The one who would set his whole world on fire over one piece of gossip.

Right on cue, his phone rang.

He picked up impatiently. "What."

The Cloudwater property manager.

"Mr. Sterling, sorry to bother you. Miss Ashford has listed the property through a broker. A new buyer is here today for final inspection. I'm just confirming, would you or Miss Ashford be able to handle the handover?"

Damon's expression turned to ice.

She was selling the apartment?

That apartment. Even after he'd moved Celine in, Magpie had only coolly charged him rent. Now she was selling it? Without a word?

"Who authorized her to sell?"

The property manager stumbled on the silence. "Mr. Sterling, the deed is in Miss Ashford's sole name. She has the right to—"

Damon cut the call dead.

Fury surged up and burned through his chest.

He pulled up their chat window. Typed fast.

"Magpie. What's this. Selling the apartment? This is how you want to play?"

"I'm telling you. Enough. Don't think cold-shouldering me is going to get you what you want."

"Whatever you want, say it. Stop playing these tacky little games."

The messages delivered. Dropped into silence.

Celine felt the temperature around him shift. She asked softly, "Damon, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He inhaled and forced the anger down. "Rest. I need to step out for a bit."

He went into the hallway and started burning through calls.

He called the housekeeper at the house. "Where is she?"

"Sir. Mrs. Sterling left a few days ago. She took Wren. Said she had things to handle."

"Where?"

"She didn't say…"

He yanked his tie loose. Fine. Good. Magpie. So you're keeping it cool this round.

He could picture her. She'd be sitting somewhere with an icy face, waiting for him to crack first, to come crawling, to beg.

He wasn't going to.

He wanted to see how long she could hold out.

A woman who had once lost her mind over him glancing at another girl. There was no way she'd actually walk away.

He went back into the room and told Celine, "Come on. Let's get you discharged."

Celine nodded, delighted.

Over the following days, like he was trying to prove something to himself, to drown out the nagging unease at the edge of his thoughts, Damon went harder.

He took Celine out in public everywhere. Runway shows. Auctions. Private parties.

He bought her jewelry. A townhouse. Even guaranteed her a spokesperson slot for one of his company's new product launches.

The press went into overdrive. Half the city was ready to call it: the next Mrs. Sterling was being installed.