Chapter 1

The day my mother was wheeled into the ICU, Ethan Sinclair didn't lend me a single cent.

He said:"My money is for venture capital, not for throwing money into a black hole."

"I sent you those personal loan platforms with low interest rates. Figure it out yourself."

I crouched in the hospital corridor clutching the insurance denial letter, but I could hear him standing by the window on a phone call.

"The five million in seed funding has already been wired to your account."

"Even if it's a loss, it's on me. Consider it a learning experience for you."

That was his company's fresh-out-of-college management trainee.

I gripped the letter so tight my nails dug into my palms.

Ethan turned around and saw me standing there calmly. No crying, no scene, no more begging.

He nodded approvingly:

"That's more like it. Stop acting like a child running to someone else every time something goes wrong."

"Learning to be independent is being responsible for yourself."

I said a quiet "mm."

He didn't look at me again. He turned and left.

In that moment, I finally understood.

When someone truly gives up, they don't cry. They don't scream.

They don't even have the strength to demand answers.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the divorce papers I'd prepared long ago.

Stroke by stroke, I signed my name.

From now on, he was him. And I was me.

......

By the time Ethan came home, it was nearly one in the morning.

I sat in the living room. In front of me were the hospital bills, the critical condition notice.

And the signed divorce agreement.

He walked in, saw me, and only frowned.

"Why are you still up this late?"

I looked up at him.

"My mother is still in the ICU."

He hung up his coat and walked to the bar counter to pour water.

"I know."

His tone was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather.

“But proper rest can help you solve the problem better.”

I stared at the glass in his hand, and suddenly thought of that afternoon in the hospital corridor.

The way I'd looked when I begged him for money.

I'd said:

"Ethan, thirty thousand dollars. Just to save her life."

He'd said:

"Amber, people have to learn to accept reality."

Then he'd turned around and wired five million to Nora Chase.

I thought I was already numb, but seeing him come home as if nothing had happened—

something still slammed hard against my chest.

Ethan finished his water. His gaze fell on the table.

"What's all this?"

"Divorce papers."

His movements froze.

A few seconds later, he looked as if he'd heard some absurd joke.

"Amber, what are you throwing a fit about now?"

I pushed the papers toward him.

"I've already signed."

He didn't pick them up. He just looked down at the words, his eyes going cold by degrees.

"Because I didn't lend you money?"

"No."

My voice was very soft.

"It's because I finally realized today—you're not broke, and you're not incapable of helping people."

"You just won't help me."

Ethan's expression darkened.

"The Nora project is a company investment. It's not personal."

"I've seen the contract."

I looked at him.

"Wired from a personal account. Personal guarantee. You cover the losses."

"You call that a company investment?"

A flash of impatience crossed his eyes.

"You went through my things?"

I smiled.

So his first reaction wasn't to explain. It was to blame me for finding out.

Ethan set the glass down hard on the table.

"Amber, you're out of control right now. I'm not discussing this with you."

"Your mother's situation—I understand. But you can't take your stress out on me just because you're under pressure."

I looked at him.

"She's the woman you called 'Mom' for six years."

Ethan looked away.

"I never said I wouldn't help."

"I just don't think we should throw money into something with no foreseeable outcome."

After he said it, as if realizing how harsh it sounded, he added:

"I can help you find specialists. Help you ask around for resources."

"But the money—you need to figure that out yourself."

I suddenly felt my stomach lurch.

I stood up, picked up the divorce papers, and slid them into the folder.

"Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. Your attorney's office. We sign together and file uncontested."

Ethan stared at me for a long time.

"Amber, if you leave me, how will you pay for your mother's treatment?"

The moment those words landed, my fingers clenched hard.

He knew exactly what I feared most.

And exactly what I needed most.

So he used it to force me to submit.

I looked up at him.

"I'll figure it out myself."

Ethan seemed stung by my resolve. His expression turned even colder.

"Then don't come crawling back to me."

I said nothing more. I turned and went to the bedroom.

Before I closed the door, I heard him answer a call in the living room.

His voice dropped much lower.

"Nora, I've read through the materials."

"Don't worry. I'll be there with you for tomorrow's pitch."

I shut the door, leaned against it, and slowly sank to the floor.

A dull ache pulsed in my lower abdomen.

I'd been so consumed with my mother these past few days, I never went back for the follow-up.

A reminder from the hospital still sat unread in my phone.

[Ms. Thorne, you are currently 7 weeks pregnant. Please schedule your prenatal checkup.]

I stared at that line for a long time.

Then I pressed the screen dark.