Chapter 2

Sophie does what she always does — posts on Instagram like clockwork.

In the photo, she's drenched in sweat, curled up in Ethan's arms. His hand rests on her lower belly, rubbing gently.

Her caption: He's been the one who loves me most since we were kids. No matter what's going on — no matter who he's with — the second I'm not okay, he drops everything and comes to me. He gives me all his care and love. He is literally the best man in the world!!!

I hit "like."

Not just once. Every single day for three years, Sophie has posted couple content. Three years. 1,095 posts. I liked every single one.

She flaunts it in a different way each time.

Like the fact that she doesn't work — Ethan gave her his black card, no spending limit.

Like how she lives in the house that used to be mine and Ethan's.

My things — she uses what she wants, throws away what she doesn't.

For three years, she and Ethan did everything a couple does.

I know she posts it all for me to see.

Every 'like' I leave is a warning she's too dumb to read. 'I see you. Sleep well — while you still can.’

But Sophie? She thinks I'm jealous. Seething. Desperately trying to stay relevant.

The next time I see Ethan, he walks into my coffee shop with Sophie.

They're wearing matching brown outfits. Ethan — a man who only ever wore classic, buttoned-up suits , is dressed in something trendy and casual today.

I used to suggest matching outfits. Every time, he'd say he was too used to suits. Didn't want to change his style.

Sophie looks around my shop, scanning it up and down.

She seems surprised.

Ethan frowns at me, confused.

"I gave you all that money. Why are you working yourself to death like this?"

When we divorced, I asked for half. He handed it over without blinking.

I set down the coffee I'm making. I look at him, expressionless.

"Because I want to. And it's none of your business."

His expression doesn't change. He still thinks I'm throwing a tantrum.

Sophie smiles at me — fake as ever.

"Claire, it's been three years! How have you been?"

"Fine."

My calm catches her off guard.

Ethan's phone rings. He steps outside to take the call.

The second we're alone, her mask drops.

That sweet smile twists into something smug, taunting.

"Relax, sweetie. You're not his type. And don't get too excited — it's embarrassing."

She looks down at me like I'm beneath her, a smirk pulling at her lips.

"Even if Ethan takes you back — so what?"

"His mother can't stand you. She's always wanted Ethan to end up with me."

"The only reason he's here is obligation."

"He even asked my permission before coming to find you."

"Oh — and you'll have to sign a prenup."

"One I wrote myself, by the way."

She pulls a document from her bag and slides it in front of me.

I glance down, barely interested.

First line: All Graves family assets are excluded from the marriage.

After marriage, I'm not allowed to take the Graves name. Legally, socially — I stay Claire Bennett.

In public, I cannot introduce myself as his wife. If anyone asks, I'm to say I'm his ex.

At family events, I'm a guest , not a member of the family.

I actually laugh. It's that insulting.

I push it back toward her.

"If his mother loves you so much — how come you're still nobody to him?"

"Three years, Sophie. He slept with you and still won't claim you. That's just sad."

Her face goes scarlet. Humiliation, fury — her hand flies up instinctively, about to slap me.

Then — footsteps. Ethan's, getting closer.

She flips like a switch. Tears streaming, voice trembling — wounded but gracious.

"Claire, I really do hope you'll remarry Ethan."

"As his oldest friend, I just want him to be happy."

"The prenup is just a formality. Please don't be upset, okay?"

Same act. Three years later, and she hasn't changed.

The second Ethan sees her crying, his brain turns to mush.

He can't tell right from wrong when she's in tears.