Chapter 2 - Julia SterlingNobody moved for several seconds.
“Keep the coat on.”
I thought I had misheard him.
“What?”
Ryan Caldwell stared through the windshield at the illuminated entrance of the Halston Grand, where photographers crowded behind velvet ropes and black sedans rolled beneath a canopy of white lights.
“Your dress,” he said, lowering his voice as if the valet might hear. “Just keep the coat on until we’re inside.”
I looked down at myself.
The pale blue dress had cost eighty-nine dollars.
I knew because I had spent nearly an hour debating whether eighty-nine dollars was irresponsible.
It wasn’t designer. It wasn’t silk. But it fit me beautifully, and I had sewn a loose bead back onto the neckline myself.
“I thought you liked it.”
“At home, maybe.”
Ryan adjusted his tuxedo cuffs.
Tonight was the annual gala for Sterling Global, the private investment company where he had worked for six years. Ryan had been promoted to vice president three months earlier, and according to him, tonight mattered more than our anniversary, Christmas, and possibly his own mother’s funeral someday.
Investors would be there.
Board members.
Politicians.
And, most importantly, Sterling Global’s billionaire founder, eighty-year-old Harrison Sterling.
Ryan had spent two weeks reminding me not to say anything “too personal.”
He had corrected the way I pronounced the name of a French wine.
He had even suggested I avoid mentioning that I worked part-time restoring antique books at the county archive.
Apparently, being married to someone who repaired damaged history wasn’t impressive enough for people who bought companies for breakfast.
“You’re beautiful,” Ryan said when he noticed my expression. “But these people notice everything.”
“So do I.”
He sighed.
“Emma, please don’t make tonight difficult.”
That sentence had become the anthem of our marriage.
Don’t make dinner difficult.
Don’t make my promotion dinner difficult.
Don’t embarrass me around my colleagues.
Don’t tell people you grew up with your grandmother in a two-bedroom house.
Don’t wear that.
Don’t say that.
Don’t be too much of yourself.
I reached for the door.
Ryan suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“And the necklace.”
My hand instinctively rose to my throat.
The old necklace had belonged to my grandmother, June Bennett.
A deep blue stone hung from a tarnished silver setting surrounded by tiny faded diamonds. The chain had been repaired twice, and one side of the clasp was slightly crooked.
Grandma had given it to me three days before she died.
Never sell this, Emmy.
That was all she had said.
Ryan hated it.
He said it looked like costume jewelry.
“I’m not taking it off.”
“Emma.”
“It was Grandma’s.”
“It looks cheap.”
Something hardened inside me.
“Then it matches the dress.”
I got out.
For several seconds, Ryan remained in the car.
Then he followed.
Inside, the Halston Grand looked like another universe.
Crystal chandeliers glittered over marble floors. Women wore gowns that probably cost more than our car. Waiters moved through the crowd carrying champagne.
Ryan immediately transformed.
His shoulders straightened.
His smile widened.
“Ryan!”
A tall man approached and slapped his back.
“Congratulations on the Mercer acquisition.”
“Thank you, Dean.”
Ryan introduced me.
“This is Emma.”
Not my wife.
Just Emma.
Dean’s wife smiled politely at my dress, then glanced toward my necklace.
Ryan noticed.
His jaw tightened.
Within twenty minutes, he had introduced me to six people.
Every time, his hand pressed against the small of my back, silently steering me away whenever conversations turned toward work, money, or family.
Then we approached a group near the ballroom doors.
Ryan stopped so suddenly that I nearly collided with him.
A silver-haired woman stood among several board members.
Beside her was Claudia Pierce, Sterling Global’s executive director.
Ryan whispered, “Stay here.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I need to talk to Claudia privately.”
“You’re telling me to stand in the hallway?”
“Five minutes.”
He guided me toward a velvet curtain near the service corridor.
Behind it was a narrow alcove containing stacked banquet chairs and floral boxes.
I stared at him.
“You’re hiding me.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You’re literally putting me behind a curtain.”
His smile disappeared.
“Those people can decide my future tonight.”
“And I’m bad for your future?”
Ryan lowered his voice.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
That hurt more than being called cheap.
Because once, years ago, when Ryan was earning forty thousand dollars and sharing an apartment with two roommates, I had understood everything.
I had paid our rent when he lost his job.
I had proofread his graduate-school applications.
I had sold my grandmother’s sewing machine to cover his licensing exam.
Back then, he had called me his lucky charm.
Now I was something to conceal.
“Ten minutes,” he said.
Then he disappeared into the ballroom.
I stood alone.
Music floated through the curtain.
Someone laughed.
I reached for my coat, ready to leave.
Then an elderly man’s voice came from behind me.
“Where did you get that?”
I turned.
Harrison Sterling was standing in the corridor.
I knew him from magazine covers.
Silver hair.
Black tuxedo.
A face shaped by eight decades of power.
But he wasn’t looking at me.
He was staring at my necklace.
His champagne glass slipped from his hand.
It shattered across the marble.
Several guests turned.
Harrison stepped toward me.
His face had gone completely white.
“Sir?”
His eyes filled with tears.
Then, in front of executives, politicians, investors—and my husband, who had just returned through the ballroom doors—Harrison Sterling slowly dropped to his knees.
Gasps filled the hallway.
Ryan froze.
Harrison’s trembling hand hovered beneath the blue stone at my throat.
And he whispered the words that changed my life.
“I gave this necklace to my sister thirty years ago.”
Ryan’s face collapsed.
But Harrison wasn’t finished.
He looked up at me.
“What was your grandmother’s real name?”
I swallowed.
“June Bennett.”
Harrison closed his eyes.
“No,” he whispered.
Then he looked straight at Ryan.
May you like
“Her name was Julia Sterling.”
And somewhere behind me, someone screamed.
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