Chapter 2
Catherine's POV
Three months ago
I was under the covers watching Steven walk back and forth across our room.
He'd been acting weird for weeks. Coming home late. Whispering on phone calls. Staring at me.
"Catherine." His voice sounded broken. "We need to talk."
I sat up. It was almost midnight. "What's wrong?"
He stopped walking and looked at me. His hands were shaking.
"I want a divorce."
What the fuck? I just stared at him. This had to be some sick joke.
"What?"
"I'm serious." He sat down but wouldn't look at me. "I've been thinking about this for months."
Months? "Steven, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm dying, Catherine. Six months, maybe less." His voice cracked. "I can't make you a widow at thirty. You deserve way better than watching me die."
I tried to grab his hand but he moved away. "Are you fucking insane? We've been married eight years. I'm not leaving you because you're sick."
"I'm not asking you to leave. I'm setting you free."
"Free from what? From loving you? From being your wife?"
He got up and started pacing again. "You don't get it. I'm some random guy who married into your family. The Ashworth name, the money, the company, none of that's mine. I just got lucky marrying the rich girl."
"Shut up." I jumped out of bed and grabbed his arm. "You're not some random guy. You're my husband. You've been running our company for five years. You built half of what we have."
He looked at me with those puppy dog eyes. "I don't want you stuck with a dead husband's memory. I don't want you wearing black for the next ten years, playing sad widow. You're thirty. You're gorgeous. You have your whole life ahead of you."
He's actually serious. My husband wanted to divorce me so I wouldn't be sad when he died.
"Steven, look at me." I grabbed his face. "I don't give a shit about being a widow. I care about being your wife. For however long we get."
"Catherine—"
"No." I wasn't backing down. "I married you for better or worse, remember? I meant that."
He started crying. Steven never cried. "I love you too much to ruin your life."
"And I love you too much to let you push me away." I wiped his tears. "We're not getting divorced. We're doing this together."
He pulled me close and held me tight. His heart was beating so fast.
"Promise me something," he whispered. "Promise you'll be happy after I'm gone. Promise you won't waste your life being sad about me."
I should have paid attention to those words. Should have wondered why he was so worried about my future. But I was thinking about love and death and all that romantic bullshit.
"I promise," I said.
What a fucking lie that turned out to be.
Two weeks later
I was sitting at Steven's desk with legal papers everywhere. Those divorce papers he wanted me to sign. I'd told him to shove them, but his lawyer made them anyway.
Just in case you change your mind, Steven had said. I want you to have options.
I was putting everything in folders when some thick document fell out. The header said Cayman Islands Trust Services, Ltd.
I opened it. The words were legal bullshit, but then I saw the number.
$1.8 billion.
I read it over and over to make sure I wasn't seeing things.
What the fuck is this?
I flipped through faster. Trust agreement from six months ago. Steven set it up. And the person getting the money—
My stomach dropped.
Beneficiary: Elena Rivera
Who the hell is Elena Rivera?
I grabbed my laptop and googled her. Some social media profiles came up. Young women I'd never seen before. Nobody connected to Steven or our business.
I looked at the papers again. $1.8 billion was insane money. Like, buy-a-small-country money. For us, it was about thirty percent of everything we had.
When did Steven do this? Why didn't he tell me?
My phone rang. Steven's name.
"Hey," I answered. My voice sounded normal. "How was the doctor?"
"Fine. Same shit as always." He sounded tired. "I'll be home in an hour."
"Okay. I'll make dinner."
"Catherine? You sound weird. You okay?"
I stared at the trust papers. "I'm fine. Just tired."
$1.8 billion. Elena Rivera.
"I love you," Steven said.
"Love you too."
I hung up and leaned back in his chair. It was raining again.
There has to be an explanation. Steven wouldn't hide this from me. He wouldn't give $1.8 billion to some random woman.
But the proof was right there. Steven's signature. Elena Rivera's name.
I put the papers back where I found them. When Steven got home, I'd ask him about it. He'd have a good reason.
Right?
Later that night
I heard Steven's car in the driveway. Through the front windows, I watched him get out and walk to the house. Something looked off.
He came through the door shaking rain off his jacket. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic sucked."
"No problem." I went to help with his coat. "How do you feel?"
"Tired. But okay." He kissed my forehead. "What's for dinner?"
I stepped back and looked at him. "Steven?"
"Yeah?"
"Your shirt."
He looked down at his white button-down. "What about it?"
"You wore blue this morning. Navy with thin stripes."
Steven didn't even hesitate. "No, I didn't. I've had this on all day."
But I knew what he'd worn. I picked out his clothes every morning like some 1950s housewife. Stupid habit, but I still did it. This morning I chose the navy shirt because it made his eyes look good.
"You sure?" I kept my voice casual. "I thought—"
"Catherine, you're wrong." His voice was firm. "I've worn this shirt since seven this morning."
I moved closer. There was a smell on his collar. Not his usual detergent or the cologne I bought him. Something flowery and girly.
"Okay," I said. "My mistake."
Steven smiled and headed upstairs. "I'm gonna shower before we eat."
I watched him go. I can no longer bring up what I actually came here to ask. Why lie about something so stupid?
Unless it wasn't stupid at all.
