Clara demanded the guide open a private VIP lounge.

The heavy door clicked shut, cutting off the cheerful theme park music.

Chadwick rushed forward. He reached out to grab Clara's arms.

She stepped back so fast she hit the wall.

"Don't touch me," she spat.

Chadwick held his hands up. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing shallow.

"Clara, listen to me," Chadwick stammered. "I was just testing the ride. To make sure it was safe for Leo."

Clara let out a sharp, barking laugh.

"You needed the nanny and her daughter to test the safety restraints?" Clara asked.

Chadwick realized the lie was too stupid. He instantly shifted tactics.

His face fell into a mask of deep, tortured pain.

"You don't understand," Chadwick said softly. "Dorcas and I... we have a trauma bond. From when I was sick as a child. She is like a second mother to me. I'm just trying to repay a debt."

Clara felt the bile rise in her throat.

She pulled out her phone. She pulled up the photo she had just taken and shoved the screen inches from his face.

"Look at this," Clara demanded. "Men do not look at their 'second mother' like that. And they sure as hell don't call the nanny's kid 'little princess' while their own son stands in the sun waiting for them."

Chadwick's face flushed dark red. His embarrassment quickly turned to rage.

"You are insane!" Chadwick yelled. "You are paranoid! Maybe if you weren't such a cold, calculating Wall Street bitch, I wouldn't have to look for warmth somewhere else!"

Leo, who had been hiding behind Clara's legs, suddenly stepped out.

"Liar!" Leo screamed at his father.

Chadwick's eyes widened in fury.

He slammed his fist on the heavy mahogany side table, the sound cracking through the quiet lounge like a gunshot. "Do not speak to me that way!" he roared, his entire body trembling with rage as he loomed over the five-year-old boy.

Clara moved with the speed of a striking snake.

She stepped directly into Chadwick's space, forcing him to step back.

She looked up into his eyes.

"If you touch him," Clara whispered, her voice vibrating with pure malice, "I will dump my family's entire share of your company's stock tomorrow morning. I will crash your board. I will ruin you."

Chadwick's rigid posture faltered.

He looked at the absolute certainty in her eyes. He slowly lowered his arm.

Clara didn't say another word. She grabbed Leo's hand, turned around, and opened the door.

Dorcas was standing right outside, pretending to look at a map.

Clara walked right past her as if she were a piece of trash on the sidewalk.

Within an hour, Clara and Leo were on a private jet back to New York.

Leo fell asleep against her side, his face stained with tears.

Clara opened her laptop. She pulled up the financial data for Chadwick's company. She started working, burying her pain under mountains of spreadsheets.

When they arrived back at the penthouse that night, Clara called Maura.

"Take all of Mr. Brewer's things out of the master bedroom and throw them in the guest suite," Clara ordered.

She walked to the master bedroom door and reprogrammed the keypad lock.

The marriage wasn't just over. It was a war zone.

Clara sat at her vanity. Her makeup artist stepped back, admiring the deep red lipstick. A stylist carefully clasped a massive, flawless emerald necklace around Clara's throat.

A knock sounded at the door.

Chadwick walked in. He was wearing a sharp Tom Ford tuxedo. He looked exhausted, but handsome.

The stylist quickly packed up and left the room.

Chadwick walked up behind Clara. He looked at her reflection in the mirror.

He placed his hands gently on her bare shoulders.

"You look breathtaking," Chadwick said softly.

Clara didn't move. She stared at his hands in the mirror.

"I'm sorry, Clara," Chadwick said. His voice was thick with fake remorse. "I was out of line in Orlando. I'm moving Dorcas and Autumn out tomorrow. I bought them a small house in Long Island. They won't be in our space anymore."

Clara felt absolutely nothing.

She knew he was only doing this because the board members were starting to ask questions about their icy public appearances.

"We'll see," Clara said flatly. She stood up, letting his hands fall from her shoulders.

Thirty minutes later, their Rolls-Royce pulled up to the Met.

The second the door opened, Chadwick grabbed her hand. He smiled brightly, playing the perfect, devoted husband for the sea of flashing cameras.

Once inside the massive, echoing hall, Chadwick was immediately swarmed by investors.

Clara pulled her hand free. She grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and walked away.

She found a quiet, dimly lit terrace overlooking Central Park.

She leaned against the stone balustrade and let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Sighing will dull the shine of those emeralds, Ms. Best."

The voice came from the shadows. It was deep, rough, and commanded absolute authority.

Clara spun around.

He had called her by her maiden name. Not Mrs. Brewer.

A man stepped out of the darkness.

He was incredibly tall. He wore a black tuxedo, but he had discarded the bowtie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone.

Clara's breath caught in her throat.

It was Erasmo Chase. The heir to the largest financial dynasty in New York. A man who rarely showed his face in public.

His eyes were dark, predatory, and locked entirely on her.

A strange, violent jolt of familiarity hit Clara's chest. She felt like she had seen those eyes before, a long time ago.

Erasmo stepped closer. He completely ignored the unspoken rules of high-society personal space.

He stopped inches from her. He held out a fresh glass of dry martini.

As Clara reached for it, Erasmo's fingers brushed deliberately against hers.

A hot shock of electricity shot up Clara's arm.

Erasmo tilted his head, a slow, dangerous smile touching his lips.

Before Clara could ask him why he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her, a loud shout echoed from the ballroom inside.