Ethan hated “wasting time on baby stuff.”
That’s when I saw him across the atrium—laughing, relaxed, his hand resting comfortably on Madison Blake’s waist.
Madison. Head of PR. The woman who helped draft my charity speech while texting my husband at midnight.
When Ethan noticed me, his smile vanished.
“You’re following me now?” he said loudly.
“I’m shopping,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Ethan, please. Not here.”
Madison tilted her chin. “Claire, don’t make a scene. Ethan has meetings.”
Meetings.
In a mall.
With her lipstick staining his collar.
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