My Composure After Divorce Became His Greatest Torment Chapter 02
In Boston’s elite circles, divorce wasn’t the scandal.
Getting caught was.
A husband and wife could lead separate lives, harbor their own secrets, but in public, they had to present a united front. Whoever tore off the mask first became fodder for gossip at charity galas and boardroom coffee breaks. Even the family business could take a hit.
The Prescotts, more than anyone, understood this.
They could accept Nathan abandoning his pregnant wife. What they couldn’t accept was me announcing he’d rekindled a romance with an old flame during our marriage.
So he needed me to be quiet.
The Back Bay apartment and the private trust were the price of my silence.
A few days later, we attended the annual Newport charity gala, an appearance we’d committed to months ago.
It would be our last public event together before the news of our divorce broke.
When the car stopped outside the hotel, Nathan didn’t get out right away.
“There will be a lot of donors and media tonight.”
He adjusted the wrap around my shoulders, his gesture solicitous, but his eyes were cool and detached.
“The divorce isn’t finalized. I need us to look normal.”
“Do you need me to take your arm?”
He seemed surprised by my directness. After a two-second pause, he said, “That would be best.”
I smiled and slipped my hand through the crook of his arm.
The moment we entered the ballroom, Nathan’s steps slowed.
I followed his gaze.
A woman stood near the entrance in a silver-gray couture gown. Her dark brown hair was swept into an elegant chignon, revealing a pair of pearl earrings and the long, graceful line of her neck.
Caroline Ames.
I didn’t need an introduction.
The way Nathan looked at her was nothing like the way he had ever looked at me.
She walked over and, as if I were invisible, took Nathan’s other arm.
“Sorry I’m late.”
The hardness in Nathan’s expression melted away.
“It’s fine.”
Two simple words, spoken with a gentleness so unfamiliar it felt like it belonged to another man.
Only then did Caroline turn to me, her smile flawless.
“Elise, you look tired. Pregnancy must be so difficult.”
Her tone was full of concern, but her hand never left Nathan’s arm.
Once we were in the main hall, I saw what was pinned to her dress.
An antique emerald brooch.
It was the ornament worn by the matriarch of the Prescott family at every formal occasion. I should have been the one wearing it tonight, but Nathan’s mother had told me it was out for maintenance.
Now it was fastened to Caroline’s gown.
She was seated beside Nathan, while I was placed on his other side, a piece of evidence that was required to be present.
During dinner, an older woman looked at me.
“Elise, dear, how is the baby? I heard your morning sickness has been dreadful.”
I had just opened my mouth to answer when Caroline cut in with a bright smile.
“She’s feeling much better. The nutritionist adjusted her meal plan, and I’ve been looking into postpartum care teams in Newport for them.”
The older woman blinked. “You have?”
“I just want to make sure everything is ready.”
Caroline’s fingers brushed the brooch, her tone so natural it was as if she were already speaking for my child.
“The nursery fabrics can’t be synthetic, and the caregivers need to be background-checked well in advance. Nathan is so busy with work. Someone has to handle these things.”
A brief silence fell over the table.
I looked at Nathan.
If he would just say something—just say that this was our child, that Caroline had no right to make these arrangements—it would all stop.
But he only lifted his wineglass.
Then he shot me a warning look, his lips forming a single, silent word.
*Smile.*
He wanted me to help them perform this public handover.
I curved my lips into the shape he wanted.
“Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
No one tried to stop me.
I crossed the corridor, pushed open the door to an empty lounge, and locked it behind me.
The woman in the mirror was pale, a polished smile still clinging to the corners of her mouth.
I took out my phone and called Tessa.
She answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
I stared at my reflection and said, each word precise and cold, “Tessa. I need the best divorce lawyer you know. And I need you to find every medical record you can on Caroline Ames.”
Tessa was a crisis PR specialist, the person you called to handle the scandals everyone else wanted to bury.
She didn’t believe in tears or promises—only in contracts, evidence, and the law. A few years ago, when a colleague falsely accused me of leaking client data, she had cleared my name with three emails and a timestamped server log.
I used to think she was too cold.
In that moment, I had never been more grateful that she was the one friend I could trust.
I ended the call and wiped the lipstick from my mouth.
I wasn’t just leaving him.
I was going to make him pay.