The moment the familiar car pulled into the drive, Isabella’s face went rigid. Panic tightened its icy grip around her heart, and her eyes, normally so fragile, blazed with fury as she rounded on Chloe. "You did this. You planned this, didn't you?" Chloe’s eyes widened, shimmering with a carefully crafted hurt. "Isabella, what are you talking about? I was upstairs the whole time, getting a gift ready for Ethan. Why would you blame me?" Just then, George Baker, the Carter family's head butler, stepped into the villa. His sharp gaze took in the devastation of the ruined living room before coming to rest on Isabella. "Ms. Isabella, Madam Carter has asked me to deliver a message." "Since it is clear your parenting has failed," he continued, his tone impeccably polite, "she feels some discipline is in order." Isabella’s lips parted in disbelief. "What?" George gestured toward the courtyard. "You are to kneel outside, please. For three hours." "George—" Chloe started, but the butler cut her off with a gentle, implacable smile. "Ms. Chloe, there is no need to plead for her. You have endured enough with the funeral. Please, take care of yourself." Chloe had only meant to ask if Dorothy was well enough to discuss the divorce at a more opportune time. In the Carter family, Ethan might command the boardroom, but it was Dorothy who ruled the household with an iron will. Swallowing her pride, Isabella walked out into the biting cold and knelt in the snow. A flicker of cold satisfaction went through Chloe, who didn't spare her a second glance as she turned for the stairs. Helen, the maid, hesitated. "Ms. Miller, what about the painting?" "Don't worry about it. Someone is coming to pick it up for restoration," Chloe said simply. She had no intention of revealing that the painting hanging in the house was a masterful fake. The real one was safe and untouched in a friend's art gallery. Benjamin Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter Carter's greatest wish had been for the world to see his work; hiding it away in a private home would have been the true crime. "You evil woman!" Leo shrieked as Chloe reached the top of the stairs. "I called Uncle Ethan! He's coming home, and you're going to be sorry!" "Then I'll be waiting." "He's going to divorce you! Then you'll be old and all alone, and nobody will want you!" the boy wailed. A low, humorless chuckle escaped Chloe's lips. "He won't listen to a word you say." Ethan and Isabella still needed her as a smokescreen. The moment a divorce was finalized, what would people say? A man living under the same roof as his late brother’s widow? The scandal would destroy Isabella’s reputation, and Ethan would never allow that. Ethan returned with startling speed. Isabella had been kneeling for less than twenty minutes when his car appeared. He emerged wearing a long, black cashmere coat, his tall frame exuding a quiet, unshakeable authority. He strode directly to Isabella, swept her into his arms, and carried her inside. After gently setting her down on the sofa, he began to treat her frozen, reddened knees, the concern in his eyes barely veiled. "You're a fool," he said, his voice low and tight. "Why would you actually kneel just because they told you to?" "It was Grandma's order. What else could I do?" Isabella cried, clutching his sleeve. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her voice trembling. "Ethan, please, can you just divorce her? She's terrifying." Ethan frowned. "Chloe?" "Yes." Isabella bit her lip, her expression tormented. "Do you know why Leo ruined Grandpa's painting? It's because she put the idea in his head." "Mommy's right!" Leo sobbed, running to his side. "Uncle Ethan, Aunt Chloe told me a monster that eats your arms lives inside that painting!" "That doesn't sound right," Ethan interrupted, ruffling the boy's hair. "Leo, you must have misheard. Aunt Chloe is the kindest person in this family. She already told you she wasn't angry anymore, remember? She wouldn't try to scare you again. Besides," he added, his gaze flicking to Isabella, "Grandpa adored her. She would never disrespect his favorite painting." Isabella stared at him, her face a mask of stunned disbelief. "You think we're lying? That Leo and I made this up just to frame her?" Her voice cracked. "Ethan! You've changed!" The accusation stung, but as he met her wounded, disappointed gaze, he forced his own anger down. "Bella, I haven't changed. This is who I've always been." Isabella held his stare. "Then swear to me. Swear that you've never had the slightest feeling for Chloe. That you've never touched her, not even once." Honesty had always been the foundation of his relationship with her. But now, faced with that question, the truth stalled on his tongue. "I haven't touched her." He owed Chloe an apology, he knew, but Isabella needed this reassurance. "I haven't touched her." Chloe heard the words as she reached the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other cradling a gift box. He said it so easily, without a trace of guilt. A bitter smile touched her lips as she stepped into the room. "Ethan, Mrs. Price called. She wanted to know if you're free for the Price family banquet tomorrow night." Eliza Doakes, known to society as Mrs. Price, had been a dear friend of Chloe's parents. After their accident, she had taken Chloe under her wing. To the outside world, Chloe was practically a Price herself. Even after her marriage, the business ties between the Carter and Price families had remained strong. Perhaps pricked by guilt, Ethan agreed without hesitation. "Of course. I'll pick you up tomorrow evening. We'll go together." "Okay." Chloe's gaze drifted from the box in her hands to the mother and son huddled beside him. Saying nothing more, she turned to leave. Olivia had just won a major case and had called to take her shopping, but hearing Chloe had hurt her foot, she'd suggested dinner instead. "Chlo," Ethan called out, the name leaving his lips before he'd thought it through. She paused. "What's in the box?" Chloe turned back, gesturing with the gift. "A present." "A present? For what?" "It was for our third wedding anniversary," she said, her tone light. "I was going to give it to you." "Chlo, I'm sorry..." She met his apologetic gaze, her own expression as placid as ever, and held the box out to him. "It's fine. You've been busy. It's completely understandable that you forgot." She offered him a perfectly sweet smile. "Anyway, your birthday is in a couple of weeks. You can just consider this an early gift. Happy birthday in advance, Ethan." And happy divorce, to me, she added silently.

Chapter 4: A Cold Reckoning