Chapter 1 - The Cold Foyer
The air inside the Montgomery estate felt colder than the winter breeze blowing off the Newport coast. Hazel’s small, trembling hand clutched the fabric of my dress, her teardrops soaking through the silk. Across the marble floor, Sterling didn't even look up from his phone as Victoria, his mistress of eleven months, wiped a microscopic smudge off her designer skirt with an expression of disgust.
"She did it on purpose, Sterling," Victoria purred, her voice dripping with artificial venom. "A child her age should know how to walk without ruining five-thousand-dollar silk. You really need to teach your daughter some discipline."
"Genevieve, take her upstairs," Sterling said coldly, his eyes still glued to his screen. "You're embarrassing us in front of guests."
"She slipped, Sterling," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "She is five years old. And your mistress just pushed her."
Victoria gasped dramatically, dropping her hand to her chest. "I did no such thing! She tripped over her own clumsy feet!"
Sterling finally looked up, his expression empty of any warmth he had once promised me six years ago. "Enough, Genevieve. Stop inventing drama to cover up your failures as a mother. Go to your room."
In that second, the last embers of love I held for Sterling Montgomery died. I looked at the man I had given six years of my life to—a man who believed I was nothing more than a penniless orphan he had charitably rescued from an art gallery in Boston. He had no idea that the woman he was treating like dirt was the only thing keeping his entire family from total ruin.
"We're leaving," I whispered, picking Hazel up in my arms.
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"If you walk out that door, Genevieve," Sterling sneered, stepping closer, "you leave with nothing. No money, no car, and no place in high society. You'll be back on your knees by morning."
I looked him dead in the eye. "You have no idea what I'm worth, Sterling."
