Chapter 1
Claire
I pushed the soup around my plate with my spoon, though I knew it had already gone cold. The steam had vanished long ago, leaving it dull and lifeless, just like me, I thought.
It had been three years, three years of being married to Damien Wolfe. It had been years of sitting at very this table, watching his family scrutinize me with their gazes and their word.
My father had saved his failing soda business with this marriage with me being handed to Damien like a contract signed in ink. My father smiled when he shook Damien’s hand at the wedding, he was relieved, grateful and obvilious to the life he was selling me into.
Damien sat at the head of the table, silent with his hands neatly folded over his plate. He didn’t need to speak. Alas, he was handsome plus dangerous in the quietest possible way.
I looked down at my soup again. I had made it fresh this afternoon, spent hours trying to get it perfect, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they would notice. They didn’t. That wasn’t why we were here.
“Claire.”
I lifted my gaze immediately.
“Yes, Mother?”
Madeline Wolfe, my mother in law regarded me with absolute contempt. She hated me, that I know which amused me, because she approved my marriage to her son. Nothing in her posture suggested anger, though I knew better. She didn’t need to raise her voice; her presence alone could cut through anyone’s defenses.
“You’ve been married to Damien for three years,” she said.
“Yes.”
Her eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary.
“But this house remains so quiet.”
I felt my chest tighten. I tried to steady my voice.
“I understand.”
“Do you?” she whispered.
Her tone was gentle but sharp, like a scalpel. I swallowed, pressed my lips together, and nodded.
Across from me, Lillian, my sister-in-law who spent a lot of time shopping rather on her education curved in a faint smile. “Three years is a long time,” she said. “A very long time for nothing to show for it.”
I nearly scoffed, Lilian had been engaged twice to an actor, and a middle aged business man who both broke up with her over the media.
I looked at her, keeping my expression neutral. “Some things take time.”
“Some things don’t,” she said. Her eyes flicked toward Damien, then back to me. “Not when everything is supposed to be… normal.”
Normal.
I knew what she meant. My mind went back to that night, three years ago, my wedding night. I had sat on the edge of the bed, my dress heavy and warm against my skin, my heart hammering and beating wildly.
I thought we were going to do it.
He had walked in late, loosened his tie and taken one glance at me. He then told me to sleep.
I had waited for him to come to me, to touch me, to want me but he went straight in to the bathroom.
“Claire,” Madeline said, and I forced myself back into the present. “A wife has responsibilities. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “Then you should also understand that this family expects an heir.”
Heir.
The word pressed down on my chest like a heavy stone.
I glanced at Damien. He was still silent, still cutting his food slowly, as if none of this concerned him as if I wasn’t sitting here, under the weight of their judgment of his family.
I wanted him to say something, anything. But he didn’t. He never did.
“You made the soup?” Lillian asked suddenly, drawing my attention back to the table.
“Yes,” I said.
She took a spoonful, swirled it around her mouth without tasting much, and set it down.
“It’s… average,” she said.
I pressed my lips together, holding back a sigh.
“It’s not bad,” she added, “but not remarkable either.”
My hands tightened under the table.
“I followed the recipe through a cookbook,” I said.
“That’s the problem,” she said. “Following instructions isn’t the same as knowing what you’re doing.”
Her words were soft, but they landed like a slap. I didn’t answer. I had learned long ago that arguing made it worse.
“You weren’t raised in this kind of environment,” Lillian continued. “So perhaps we can’t expect too much.”
“My upbringing has nothing to do with this,” I said quietly.
“It has everything to do with it,” she replied.
I looked down at my plate, at the soup I had carefully prepared, and felt something inside me tighten.
Across the table, Damien finally lifted his eyes. They were dark, sharp, but unreadable. He had the kind of gaze that could slice through someone without even trying. I looked away quickly, my throat tight.
“I’ve done everything expected of me,” I said, my voice quieter this time.
Lillian smiled faintly. “Everything?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a very confident claim for a golddigger,” she said lightly, tilting her head.
Madeline cleared her throat softly. “Marriage isn’t about confidence, Claire. It’s about results.”
I nodded.
“I understand.”
“Good,” she said, “Then you also understand that this family does not wait forever.”
The words sank into me. I didn’t flinch, didn’t answer. What was left to say?
“Then perhaps,” Lillian added, leaning back in her chair, “you could explain why there is still no child?”
I felt my stomach knot.
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
Because I couldn’t tell them the truth.
That Damien… had never touched me and that there was no intimacy between us. We didn’t even speak to each other.
I swallowed, forcing calm into my voice. “There is nothing to explain.”
Lillian’s eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger, but amusement. “Of course there is. Everyone can see it. Everyone notices.”
I lowered my gaze to my plate. I could feel the sweat on my palms. My hands twisted tightly in my lap.
“I’ve done everything I could,” I said softly.
She let out a small, sharp laugh. “Everything? Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you could do more. How many times have you even gone to the hospital?” my mother-in-law quipped in.
My chest tightened.
I looked again at Damien. He didn’t even glance at me. He acted so nonchalant.
The conversation ended soon after. They made small, polite remarks about the food and about Damien’s day ahead, as if nothing had occurred. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I simply waited until they left the dining room, their footsteps fading down the hall until they entered their car and drove off
Finally, I pushed my chair back. The table felt enormous and cold. I walked slowly to the master bedroom that Damien barely slept in.
Damien was already there, standing by the window, adjusting his cufflinks. I stopped at the doorway, holding the papers in my hand.
“I need to give you something,” I said, my voice steady.
He didn’t look up. “I’ll look at it tomorrow ,” he said.
“I don’t want tomorrow. It’s urgent,” I said.
Finally, he lifted his gaze and his eyes met mine.
I stepped forward, pressing the papers into his hand.
“I want a divorce,”
