Julian lifted his glass. “I gave you a life most people only see on magazine covers, Camille. I found you shelving books in a neighborhood library in Queens and turned you into Mrs. Mercer. That chapter’s over. You don’t have assets. You don’t have leverage. And thanks to the prenup your own lawyer reviewed and signed, you don’t have a claim.”
She turned toward him fully then, her expression unreadable. “You never once asked why I agreed so easily.”
“I didn’t need to,” he replied. “You were grateful.”
Camille walked to the suitcase and lifted it herself this time. It was heavier than it looked, though Julian never noticed that. He rarely noticed what he didn’t believe he needed.
At the elevator, she paused and met his eyes. “You’re right about one thing,” she said quietly. “The show is over. But you were so busy directing it, you never realized I was rewriting the script.”
The doors slid shut before he could respond.
Julian laughed, the kind of laugh men produce when they think they’ve just escaped inconvenience. He clinked his glass lightly against Brielle’s.
“Finally,” he said. “Uncomplicated.”
The intercom buzzed less than three minutes later.
Julian rolled his eyes. “What now?”
