Chapter 2 - The Name Ethan Never Forgot
The first thing Clara noticed was not the chandeliers. It was Julian’s
face.
He stood halfway across the marble foyer of the Vance estate, one hand
still resting at the small of Vanessa Cole’s back, staring at Clara as
if she had just walked into the White House beside the President.
Ethan Vance did not release Clara’s hand until she was steady.
“Mr. Vance,” Julian said.
The confidence in his voice had disappeared.
Ethan glanced at him. “Julian Mercer.”
Two words. No warmth. No surprise.
Clara looked between them. “You know each other?”
Julian answered too quickly. “Everybody knows Ethan Vance.”
“That wasn’t what she asked,” Ethan said.
Around them, the annual Vance Foundation winter gala continued beneath
crystal chandeliers and enormous arrangements of white roses, but the
people closest to the entrance had stopped pretending not to watch.
Vanessa removed her hand from Julian’s arm. Julian noticed.
His jaw tightened.
“Clara,” he said, lowering his voice, “come outside. We need to talk.”
She almost laughed. Ten minutes earlier, he had told security she was
not to follow him inside because her dress was “too plain” for the
investors he wanted to impress.
Now he wanted privacy.
“No,” Clara said.
It was the smallest word she had spoken all night. It felt enormous.
Ethan looked at the red mark on her wrist where Julian had grabbed her
before abandoning her on the carpet.
His expression changed. “Did he do that?”
Clara instinctively covered the mark.
Julian stepped forward. “This is a marital disagreement. Stay out of
it.”
Ethan’s gaze hardened. “You’re standing in my house.”
Julian stopped.
Then a silver-haired woman approached from the ballroom.
“Ethan, the board is waiting.”
She stopped when she saw Clara. The color vanished from her face.
“Clara?”
Clara stared at her. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
The woman looked at Ethan.
Ethan’s shoulders stiffened.
“Clara, this is my aunt, Margaret Vance.”
Margaret’s eyes were wet. She looked at Clara’s face as though searching
for someone else inside it.
Then she whispered, “You have her eyes.”
Clara felt the room shift beneath her.
“Whose eyes?”
Margaret opened her mouth.
Ethan stopped her. “Not here.”
That frightened Clara more than any answer could have.
Julian stepped closer. “Clara, we’re leaving.”
“No,” she said again.
This time she did not whisper.
A Vance Foundation attorney approached Ethan and handed him a cream
envelope.
“Mr. Vance, the documents you requested from storage arrived.”
Ethan looked at the envelope, then at Clara.
He handed it to her.
Across the front, written in faded blue ink, were two words.
CLARA BENNETT.
Her maiden name.
Underneath it was a date from when Clara was six years old.
Her fingers went cold.
“What is this?”
Ethan’s voice dropped. “Something my father left behind.”
Clara looked up sharply.
“Why would your father have an envelope with my name on it?”
Before Ethan could answer, Julian reached for it.
Ethan caught his wrist.
The room went silent.
“Don’t,” Ethan said.
Julian stared at him.
For one strange second, Clara saw something in her husband’s face that
had nothing to do with jealousy.
Fear.
And suddenly she understood the worst part.
May you like
Julian was not learning this secret with her.
He already knew there was one.
