The date printed beneath the image was the same night Nathaniel had told me he was meeting an investor in Boston.
“You were not in Boston,” I said.
Nathaniel stared at me.
The performance disappeared from his face for one second.
What replaced it was colder and more familiar—the expression he used behind closed doors when charm failed and intimidation began.
“You had me followed?”
“I had our money followed.”
His jaw tightened.
Celeste finally released the table.
“Nathaniel told me the apartment was purchased through his personal holdings.”
He turned on her so quickly that several guests stepped back.
“Do not say anything.”
Celeste blinked.
“You said Emma knew.”
Another murmur passed through the garden.
Nathaniel’s mother closed her eyes.
I had wondered which lie he had given Celeste.
Now I knew.
He had told her our marriage was privately finished, that we stayed together for appearances, and that I knew about their relationship.
It did not make Celeste innocent.
She had entered my home, accepted jewelry purchased through accounts she knew were connected to my family, and smiled while my husband praised her at my baby shower.
But it revealed how Nathaniel maintained control.
He gave every woman a different version of reality and trusted that none of us would compare notes.
My attorney placed the sealed envelope on the table.
Nathaniel looked at it but did not touch it.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Service,” she replied.
His eyes narrowed.
She continued in an even voice.
“The divorce petition was filed this morning.
The envelope also contains notice of an emergency application to preserve marital assets until the court can review the transfers.”
Nathaniel stared at me as if I had spoken a language he did not recognize.
“You filed for divorce?”
“I did.”
“You cannot ambush me like this.”
My attorney answered before I could.
“Mr.
Cross, you are being served in accordance with New York law.
You should speak with independent counsel.”
He ignored her.
“Emma, call this off.”
“No.”
“We are having a child.”
His hand moved toward my stomach again.
I stepped back before he could touch me.
The movement was small, but everyone saw it.
“You thanked your mistress for supporting you through my pregnancy,” I said.
“Do not use our baby to protect you from the consequences.”
The champagne glass in his hand trembled.
He set it down too hard.
The base struck the table, and a thin crack spread through the glass.
Celeste looked at the deed again.
“You said the apartment was mine.”
Nathaniel snapped, “This is not the time.”
“You put it in my name.”
“Stop talking.”
