Chapter 5

"What?" Julian was on his feet, lifting the man by his collar. "Where's the legal team? How did they not stop this?"

The assistant pushed a tablet at him with both hands.

"Sir. They said there was no stopping it. See for yourself."

Clara was live. Calm voice, clean pace.

"My name is Clara Harrington. I'm not here for clicks. I'm here to set the record straight.

"Fact: Julian Sterling committed adultery during our marriage. He and Vivienne Ashford presented themselves publicly as a couple without my knowledge, and they held a wedding in Vancouver, Canada. I only learned of it during a call-in on my podcast. The public apology I delivered last week was not voluntary — Julian Sterling dictated it to me, and he used my dying mother as leverage to force me to read it. He did this to cover up his affair and his bigamy.

"I am now going to play the audio of that threat, along with corroborating evidence. I am also presenting their Vancouver marriage certificate and the forged affidavit of single status that Julian Sterling submitted to obtain it. These documents constitute bigamy and felony forgery of a government record under New York and federal law.

"I have filed a criminal complaint against Julian Sterling and Vivienne Ashford. I have also filed for divorce."

Julian's heart kicked once and missed.

Vivienne was clinging to his sleeve. "Julian — is that — are we going to prison? We got married in Canada, they can't—"

He didn't hear her.

He dialed Clara. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail.

Was Clara really going to put him in federal prison?

She didn't love him anymore?

No. He shoved the thought away. Clara loved him. Clara had always loved him. The whole world could turn on him, Clara wouldn't.

She was angry. She was trying to scare him. That was all.

And if she wouldn't take his calls — her mother. Eleanor. Eleanor would listen. Eleanor loved him. Clara would forgive him on her mother's word.

He grabbed his coat and ran.

He stopped at a florist on 68th and bought the biggest armful of lilies he could carry. Eleanor's favorite.

He took the elevator up. He walked to her room.

Empty.

He caught a nurse in the hall. "The kidney transplant patient in 412 — where is she? Did they discharge her?"

The nurse shook her head.

"Oh — her. No. She passed."

Julian's mind went white. He only heard two words.

She passed.

His knees buckled. The lilies hit the floor.

"How." His voice was unrecognizable to him. "How did she die?"

"She was recovering fine, and then a group of strangers came in screaming at her daughter. The stress was too much for her heart. She coded and we couldn't bring her back."

He remembered the phone call from Clara. The begging. The please.

She hadn't been manipulating him. She hadn't been lying. Her mother had really been dying.

And he had pulled the cardiologist.

For Vivienne.

He had killed her.

He sank down in the middle of the hallway and fisted both hands in his own hair and made a sound he had never made before.

When he stood up his face was different.

He called his chief of staff. "I want everything Vivienne Ashford has done in the last four months. Every contact, every wire, every text. Now."

Thirty minutes. That was all it took.

The clip of the on-air segment had been staged. Vivienne had hired the call-in.

The doxxing campaign against Clara — paid. Vivienne.

The strangers who broke into the hospital room — also Vivienne's. Hired off an online classifieds site in Queens.

Every single one. Every slap he had delivered in the last three weeks, metaphorical and literal, landed on his own face now.

Julian drove to the SoHo loft he'd bought her.

He didn't let her speak. He crossed the room and put his hand around her throat.

"I know what you did. Eleanor. The hospital. The wrist-cutting. You staged all of it. How did I not see this?"

Vivienne's face went purple. She choked out, "Julian — I don't know what you're talking about — let go—"

He tightened his grip for another second and watched her eyes start to roll. Then he let go.

Vivienne crumpled. She was shaking. Then, astonishingly, she tried to play it soft.

"Julian, okay, yes, it was me, but I did it because I love you, I was jealous of Clara, I was jealous that she was your wife, please, forgive me—"

He didn't answer. His eyes were on her and they were not human.

"Get out. Starting tomorrow, every resource, every account, every card, every credit line — I'm taking it all back. You don't get any of it. You never deserved any of it."

Something in Vivienne cracked. The soft-girl act dropped in a blink. She laughed, a mean, high laugh.

"What is this act? You think performing grief makes a difference? Clara left you, Julian. She is gone. She's going to bury you in court and she is never, ever coming back. The only one who loves you is me. I'm carrying your son. I'm going to be Mrs. Sterling."

Julian grabbed the back of her head and slammed it into the wall.

"Shut up. My wife is Clara. You don't get to carry my child."

He called his chief of staff back in. "Take her to the clinic. Terminate the pregnancy."

Vivienne's scream followed him out the door.

He was going to find Clara. He was going to beg.