Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Wanted Me Gone
The person entering my building that night never reached my floor.
By the time police arrived, whoever had broken the rear glass door was gone.
Nothing was stolen.
No apartment had been entered.
That frightened Ethan more than robbery would have.
“It was a message,” he said.
We were inside Maya’s brother’s townhouse on the North Side before midnight.
I had refused every property belonging to Ethan.
So Maya called her brother, who was traveling for work, and he offered his home.
Ethan accepted because the townhouse had secure parking and only one main entrance.
I accepted because it was not Blackwood House.
Compromise.
Something Ethan and I should have learned years earlier.
He stood near the window while I sat on the sofa wrapped in a blanket.
“You keep saying someone wanted me gone,” I said. “Gone where?”
He looked at me.
“Out of my life.”
“That sounds less frightening than you’re making it.”
“It wasn’t supposed to become dangerous.”
“Supposed to?”
Ethan’s expression tightened.
I stood.
“Tell me everything.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
My voice sharpened.
“For three years you used protecting me as an excuse not to tell me anything. Look where that got us.”
He flinched.
Good.
“I deserve to know why someone broke into my building.”
“You do.”
“So talk.”
He sat across from me.
I had rarely seen Ethan Blackwood look uncertain.
That night, he did.
“After my father died, control of the family businesses was divided.”
“Between you and Victor?”
“Mostly.”
“How old were you?”
“Nineteen.”
I stared.
Ethan almost never discussed his father’s death.
“I inherited voting control of the legitimate companies. Victor expected to run everything until I was older.”
“But you didn’t let him.”
“No.”
That sounded like Ethan.
“What happened?”
“He tried to force me out. It failed.”
“And you haven’t spoken since?”
“We’ve spoken.”
His mouth curved without humor.
“Never pleasantly.”
“Why does he care about me?”
“Because three years ago, marrying you changed something.”
“What?”
“The board structure in my father’s trust.”
I blinked.
“What does our marriage have to do with a trust?”
“My father believed the company needed stability. If I married and remained married for three years, a block of shares moved permanently under my control.”
A strange laugh escaped me.
“So our marriage increased your power?”
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“No.”
“Did you marry me because of it?”
His answer came instantly.
“No.”
I searched his face.
“That part I swear to you.”
I believed him.
Maybe that made me foolish.
But Ethan had flaws.
Many.
Lying about whether he loved me when we married had never felt like one.
“The shares transferred last month,” he continued.
“Last month.”
“Yes.”
“And when did you ask for the divorce?”
“Two weeks later.”
Understanding moved slowly through me.
“Victor couldn’t stop the transfer once we had been married three years.”
“No.”
“But maybe he could convince you our marriage was miserable before then.”
“Yes.”
“And Vanessa?”
“I think she was helping him.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Money. Position. Maybe revenge.”
“What revenge?”
“She worked for Victor first.”
I felt cold.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“How is that possible?”
“She used her mother’s surname. Her employment history was clean.”
“Ethan.”
“I should have checked further.”
“You check everyone.”
“I know.”
“Except the woman sitting ten feet from you every day?”
His face hardened with self-disgust.
“I trusted the wrong person.”
I looked away.
“That makes two of us.”
Silence.
The words hurt him.
I could tell.
Then he said, “You were never wrong to trust me.”
I laughed.
“Really?”
“I failed you. That’s different.”
“No, Ethan. When someone repeatedly fails your trust, trusting them becomes a mistake.”
He accepted that quietly.
The next morning brought more information.
Vanessa’s employment records.
Payments routed through a consulting firm connected to Victor.
Private messages showing she had deliberately exaggerated how much time Ethan spent with her.
One message made me sick.
He forgot anniversary. She saw lipstick. Perfect timing.
Another:
She’s still not leaving. Need pressure.
Another:
He thinks she’s pulling away. Keep it that way.
I read them twice.
Then I put the papers down.
Ethan stood across the kitchen.
“She manufactured it.”
“Some of it.”
“All of it.”
“No.”
I met his eyes.
“She didn’t make you forget our anniversary.”
His face dropped.
“She didn’t make you dismiss me when I asked questions.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t make you sleep in your study for three months.”
“I know.”
“She gave you a push, Ethan. You chose the direction.”
That was the truth.
And he did not argue.
Later that afternoon, Ethan received a call.
He stepped into the hall.
His voice lowered.
I could not hear everything.
But I heard Vanessa’s name.
Then Victor.
Then Ethan said, “No one touches her.”
The old Ethan.
Cold.
Dangerous.
Certain.
A few months ago, hearing that voice might have comforted me.
Now it reminded me of all the reasons I wanted our daughter raised somewhere different.
When he returned, I said, “I don’t want this life for her.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Our daughter.”
I touched my stomach.
“I don’t want her growing up with guards outside school. I don’t want her learning to duck when windows break. I don’t want her wondering why her father comes home bleeding.”
Ethan looked away.
“This world doesn’t let people walk away easily.”
“I did.”
“That’s different.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“You walked away from me.”
“Yes.”
“I’m talking about the organization.”
“So am I.”
He stared.
“You’re asking me to dismantle everything.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I will not raise our daughter inside Blackwood House if it remains what it was.”
His jaw worked.
“That house is protected.”
“It’s also a fortress.”
“It keeps people alive.”
“What kind of life requires that many walls?”
He had no answer.
That evening, Vanessa called me.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Claire.”
Her voice was breathless.
“What do you want?”
“You need to leave Chicago.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You already tried that.”
“No. Listen to me.”
“You’ve done enough.”
“Victor knows about the baby.”
My body froze.
“How?”
“I told him.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Why?”
“He said no one would get hurt.”
“And you believed him?”
“I thought he wanted Ethan distracted. Angry. Miserable.”
“You helped destroy my marriage.”
“I thought Ethan would choose me afterward.”
There it was.
Not only money.
Vanity.
Obsession.
“You told me he loved you.”
“He never said that.”
I almost smiled at the absurdity.
“Thank you for finally admitting it.”
“Claire, Victor changed after he found out you were pregnant.”
“What does that mean?”
Silence.
“Vanessa?”
“If Ethan has a legitimate heir, the trust becomes even harder to challenge.”
I pressed a hand to my stomach.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Victor scared me.”
A noise sounded on Vanessa’s end.
She gasped.
Then the line went dead.
I called back.
Nothing.
Ethan entered the room.
“What happened?”
I told him.
Within minutes, his people were trying to locate Vanessa.
She had left her apartment.
Her car was found near the river.
Empty.
Her phone lay on the passenger seat.
No Vanessa.
For the first time, I felt something other than anger toward her.
Fear.
Because Vanessa had been cruel.
Manipulative.
Selfish.
But she was also twenty-six years old, and somewhere along the way she had become involved with men far more dangerous than whatever fantasy she thought she was controlling.
That night I could not sleep.
Around midnight, I found Ethan in the kitchen.
No jacket.
Sleeves rolled.
Coffee untouched.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“So should you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that for three years.”
He looked at me.
I sat.
“Do you think she’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that?”
“No.”
I appreciated the honesty.
He pushed the coffee away.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
I almost rolled my eyes.
He continued before I could.
“I know saying it doesn’t change anything. I know apologies are cheap when they come after consequences. But I need you to know I understand something now.”
“What?”
“You spent three years trying to make my world feel like home.”
I said nothing.
“And I spent three years acting like providing the house was the same thing as being a husband.”
My throat tightened.
“I thought money meant you were safe. I thought guards meant you were protected. I thought because I never cheated, I had nothing to apologize for.”
I looked at him.
“Did you?”
“Cheat?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“Not once?”
“Never.”
“What about Vanessa?”
“She kissed my cheek. She hugged me. Once, on the anniversary, she tried to kiss me properly.”
My stomach turned.
“I pushed her away.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I knew how it would look.”
“It looked worse when you lied by omission.”
“I know.”
“Why did you keep her working for you?”
“She was good at her job.”
I laughed.
“Unbelievable.”
“I was arrogant.”
“Very.”
“And stupid.”
“Extremely.”
A tiny smile appeared.
It disappeared quickly.
“I thought I could manage everything.”
“You can’t manage people like companies.”
“I know.”
I studied him.
There were shadows beneath his eyes.
“When did you decide to divorce me?”
“Four weeks ago.”
“Why?”
He looked down.
“Victor arranged photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“You meeting a man outside a medical building.”
My stomach dropped.
“My obstetrician’s office?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Who was the man?”
“Daniel.”
“My attorney.”
“I know now.”
“You thought I was having an affair?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I thought you were preparing to leave.”
“So rather than ask—”
“I left first.”
I stared at him.
It was pathetic.
Tragic.
Infuriating.
And somehow heartbreakingly human.
Before I could respond, pain sliced through my abdomen.
I gasped.
Ethan was beside me instantly.
“Claire?”
Another pain.
Different from before.
Stronger.
My hand gripped his arm.
Then warm fluid rushed down my legs.
I looked at him.
His face went white.
“No.”
My voice trembled.
“Not yet.”
Ethan lifted me before I could protest.
He shouted for the driver.
For the doctor.
For anyone.
I clung to his shirt as another contraction hit.
“I’m only thirty-three weeks.”
“I know.”
“She’s too early.”
“I know.”
“Ethan.”
His eyes met mine.
For once, there was no Mafia boss.
No billionaire.
No man who controlled rooms.
Only a terrified father.
May you like
“I’ve got you,” he said.
And as he carried me toward the car, I realized our daughter had chosen the worst possible night to enter the world.
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