Chapter 2 Divorce Negotiations
Sloane
The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our Park Avenue apartment, casting long shadows across the pristine marble floors. I stood watching the light change, Celeste’s words echoing in my mind.
Three years ago, I loved Graham so deeply that, after his parents passed away and the shareholders rebelled, I begged my father to help save the Harrington company. He agreed—but only on the condition that Graham and I got married.
I was such a fool.
I never told Graham that our marriage wasn’t my idea, but a decision made by the heads of our two families. I let him believe I forced him into it for the sake of profit. Because of that, I inadvertently pushed Tessa to accept the fashion position in Paris.
Now she was back, and Bennett Investments was on the verge of collapse. It was time to set things right.
My phone felt heavy in my hand as I typed the message to Graham:
"Need to see you now—about the divorce."
Simple. Direct. I pressed send before I could reconsider, then switched my phone to silent and placed it face-down on the coffee table next to the divorce papers his lawyer had delivered that morning.
Thirty-two minutes later—I'd been watching the antique grandfather clock—I heard Graham's key in the lock. He strode in, immaculate in a charcoal Tom Ford suit despite the late hour, looking as though he'd stepped directly from a business magazine cover. His dark eyes immediately swept over the room, landing on the unsigned divorce papers before moving to me.
"Sloane," he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of impatience. "What exactly are you trying to pull this time?"
I straightened my spine, determined not to be intimidated in my own home. "I'm not 'pulling' anything, Graham. I simply think it's time we stop pretending."
"Pretending?" He loosened his tie slightly, the only sign that this conversation was affecting him at all. "Is this because Tessa's back in New York?"
The direct question caught me off guard. "Is that why you want a divorce? Because your college sweetheart is finally available again?"
His jaw tightened. "Does it make any difference?"
"Actually, it does." I moved toward the living area, gesturing for him to sit. He remained standing. "I'm willing to make this simple. I'll sign away any claim to Harrington assets or properties."
A flash of surprise crossed his face before the mask returned. "That's... unexpected. What's the catch?"
"Bennett Investment needs liquidity. I want you to help my father's company survive this crisis."
Graham's laugh was short, humorless. "So this is about money after all."
"It's about family," I countered. "My family helped yours when everyone else abandoned Harrington Enterprises."
"At the price of a marriage," he shot back.
"A marriage you've made abundantly clear you never wanted." My voice remained steady despite the pain lancing through me. "After the divorce, we'll go our separate ways. No demands, no interference in each other's lives."
Graham studied me with narrowed eyes. "Are you worried that I might bother you after the divorce? Is that it?"
The cruelty of his words stole my breath momentarily. "No, Graham. I stopped hoping for that a long time ago."
"Good." He moved closer, towering over me. "Because I will never love you, Sloane. That was never part of our arrangement."
I refused to flinch. "Then there's no reason not to sign the papers."
“I’ll gladly sign the divorce papers,” he said, his eyes cold. “But I won’t bail out Bennett Investment. Your father’s outdated management style is the real reason the Bennett Group is in crisis—and I have no obligation to pay for that.”
"You owe my family—"
"I don't owe anyone anything," he cut in sharply. "The debt was paid in full the day I said 'I do.'"
Before I could respond, his phone rang. The change in his expression was immediate as he glanced at the caller ID. The hard lines around his mouth softened.
"Tessa," he answered, voice warm in a way I'd never heard directed at me. "No, it's fine. I'll be right there."
He pocketed his phone, already moving toward the door. "Sloane, we're done here. Have your lawyer contact mine. Let's not waste any more of each other's time."
And then he was gone, leaving the door ajar behind him—not even bothering to close it properly. Like I wasn't worth the extra second of consideration.
I sank onto the sofa, a tear finally escaping despite my best efforts. Three years of marriage, and all I had to show for it was this hollow feeling in my chest and the knowledge that I'd never been more than a business transaction to him.
My phone buzzed with an incoming call. Eleanor Harrington—Graham's grandmother. My heart stuttered. Had Graham already told her about the divorce?
"Hello?" I answered cautiously.
"Sloane, dear." Her voice carried its usual aristocratic warmth. "I was hoping you might join me for dinner tonight at the Greenwich Village house. Around eight?"
I hesitated, confusion momentarily replacing my sadness. Eleanor had always been inexplicably kind to me, despite Graham's obvious disdain for our marriage.
"I'd love to," I found myself saying.
After ending the call, I placed a protective hand over my still-flat abdomen. Eight weeks. A tiny life completely unaware of the chaos surrounding it. Eleanor didn't know about the pregnancy or the divorce, and I wasn't sure which news to share first—if either.
All I knew was that for this child's sake, I needed to start making different choices than the ones that had led me here.