Chapter 2
I nodded slowly.
The water still dripped from my hair onto my shoulders.
I could feel every pair of eyes in the ballroom on us.
Margaret looked like she might collapse.
Her face had gone from red to pale white in seconds.
Daniel stood frozen between us, his mouth slightly open.
He had no idea who my father was.
I had never told him.
Eight months of marriage, and I had kept my family’s identity a secret.
My father stepped forward.
The hotel manager and the executives moved aside like he was royalty.
He took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?”
His voice was gentle, but his eyes were cold when they flicked toward Margaret.
“I’m fine, Dad.”
He turned to Daniel’s CEO.
“The promotion is off the table.”
The CEO’s face fell.
“Mr. Harrison, if I could just explain—”
“Not another word.”
My father’s voice cut through the room like a knife.
“Your company has a serious culture problem if this is how employees’ families are treated.”
Margaret finally found her voice.
“Mr. Harrison, I—I had no idea. If I’d known Claire was your daughter—”
“You would have treated her with respect?”
My father finished the sentence for her.
“Or you would have pretended to, until you found a way to use her for your own benefit?”
Margaret opened her mouth but nothing came out.
Daniel looked at me.
“Claire. Who is he?”
I pulled my father’s jacket tighter around me.
“He’s my father, Daniel.”
“Your father is Charles Harrison?”
The disbelief in his voice hurt more than the water had.
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to love me for who I am, not what my family has.”
He stared at me like I was a stranger.
Margaret grabbed Daniel’s arm.
“Daniel, say something.”
He shook her off.
Then he turned to my father.
“Mr. Harrison, I’m sorry for what happened tonight. I had no idea my mother would—”
“Save your apologies for your wife.”
My father put his arm around me.
“Claire is coming with me.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Wait. She’s my wife. She stays with me.”
My father looked at him with something close to pity.
“Your wife just had water thrown in her face by your mother in front of hundreds of people. And where were you? Talking to an executive.”
The words hung in the air.
Daniel flinched.
“I came back as soon as I heard—”
“Not soon enough.”
My father guided me toward the exit.
I looked back at Daniel.
He stood there in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by whispers and stares.
His mother clung to his arm, her face twisted in humiliation and fear.
I wanted to go back.
I wanted to tell him everything would be okay.
But the water on my face reminded me of every insult, every cold shoulder, every time Margaret had made me feel small.
And Daniel had let it happen.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I walked out with my father.
The car ride to his penthouse was silent.
I stared out the window at the Manhattan lights, my father’s jacket still wrapped around me.
He didn’t push me to talk.
He never did.
When we arrived at the penthouse, the housekeeper had already drawn a bath and laid out fresh clothes.
“Thank you, Dad.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I slept for three hours.
Then I woke up to my phone buzzing on the nightstand.
Twenty-three missed calls from Daniel.
Seventeen text messages.
I opened the first one.
“Claire, please call me. I need to explain.”
The next one came five minutes later.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about your father. How could you keep this from me?”
Then another.
“My mother is devastated. She says she didn’t mean it.”
And the last one, sent ten minutes ago.
“Please come home. We need to fix this.”
I put the phone down.
I walked to the window and looked out at the city.
Eight months.
Eight months of pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
Eight months of letting Margaret walk all over me.
Eight months of loving a man who might never have looked at me twice if he’d known who my father was.
The thought made my chest ache.
I picked up the phone again.
I typed one message.
“I’ll be there in the morning to get my things.”
I hit send.
Then I turned off the phone.
May you like
Somewhere in the penthouse, a clock struck three in the morning.
I didn’t sleep again that night.
