Chapter 2 - The Name Inside Aleric’s Jacket
I did not answer Rowan immediately.
That was difficult.
Every instinct in me wanted to type one question.
Is Julian Aleric’s son?
But questions gave people control over the answers.
And I was tired of letting other people decide how much truth I was allowed to have.
So I saved the photograph.
Then I called Desmond Pierce.
He answered on the third ring.
“Saraphina?”
His voice had changed since law school.
Deeper.
More measured.
But he recognized me instantly.
“Hi, Desmond.”
A pause.
“You haven’t called me in five years.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
I looked toward the nursery.
Julian was asleep.
Margaret was downstairs.
Eleanor had left for a luncheon.
Aleric was in Manhattan.
“I need an attorney.”
There was another pause.
Longer this time.
“Come tomorrow.”
“I can come today.”
“Then come today.”
Desmond’s firm occupied three floors of a glass tower in Hudson Yards.
I arrived shortly after noon carrying copies of everything I had collected.
The medical folder photographs.
Rowan’s messages.
The hospital photograph.
Dates.
Notes.
I had written them all down the night before.
That habit surprised me.
I had not practiced law in years.
But the training had never disappeared.
Facts first.
Emotion later.
Desmond met me in a conference room overlooking Manhattan.
He was forty now.
Dark suit.
Silver beginning at his temples.
He looked at me for two seconds before speaking.
“You look different.”
“So do you.”
“No.” He sat down. “I mean you look like someone who already knows she’s leaving.”
I stared at him.
“I haven’t said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I placed the folder in front of him.
He read everything.
Slowly.
He asked no questions until he finished.
Then he leaned back.
“How long have you known?”
“Less than a week.”
“And what does your husband think you know?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Keep it that way.”
I nodded.
Desmond tapped Rowan’s hospital photograph.
“Do you know whether he is legally Julian’s father?”
“No.”
“Do you know whether the adoption is real?”
“No.”
“Do you know who currently has parental rights?”
“No.”
“Do you know whether marital funds have been used for Rowan or the child?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“That’s what we find out.”
I swallowed.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
I reached into my handbag and took out the doctor’s envelope.
“I’m pregnant.”
Desmond’s expression softened.
“Does Aleric know?”
“No.”
“Do you want him to?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“That’s your decision. Not mine.”
The sentence nearly broke me.
Not because it was profound.
Because someone had said the words your decision to me without sarcasm or negotiation.
I looked out the window.
“I used to make decisions.”
“You still do.”
“I left practice.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It feels like it.”
Desmond was quiet.
Then he said, “Saraphina, I remember you in law school.”
“So do I, vaguely.”
“No. I remember exactly. You corrected Professor Hayes in front of two hundred people because he cited the wrong appellate case.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“He did cite the wrong case.”
“You were terrifying.”
“I was twenty-five.”
“You were good.”
I looked down.
“Aleric said we didn’t need two careers.”
Desmond did not react.
“He said his schedule was demanding. He wanted children. He said one of us needed to create stability.”
“And that became you.”
“Yes.”
“Did you want to leave?”
“At first? Maybe. I was exhausted. We were newly married. I thought it would be temporary.”
“How temporary?”
“Six months.”
Desmond looked at the date on his phone.
“Five years is a long six months.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
He closed the folder.
“We proceed carefully. Before you confront anyone, I want a complete picture of your financial situation.”
“Aleric manages most of it.”
“I assumed.”
“We have joint accounts.”
“Access?”
“Yes.”
“Properties?”
“The Greenwich house.”
“Whose name?”
“Both, I think.”
“You think?”
Heat rose into my face.
Desmond did not judge me.
That made it worse.
“I signed documents when we bought it.”
“We’ll confirm.”
“There’s also the Manhattan apartment.”
“Whose?”
“Aleric says it’s corporate.”
“Again, we confirm.”
He made notes.
“Any trust?”
“Sterling family trust.”
“Beneficiary?”
“Aleric.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Prenup?”
I nodded.
Desmond’s eyes lifted.
“Bring it.”
“I haven’t read it since we married.”
“You’re going to read it now.”
I left his office with a list.
Bank statements.
Tax returns.
Property documents.
Insurance policies.
Prenuptial agreement.
Corporate interests that might affect marital assets.
And most importantly, no confrontation.
I answered Rowan that evening.
Where do you want to meet?
Her reply came almost instantly.
Tomorrow. 11:30. Madison Avenue. I’ll send the address.
She chose a quiet café attached to a boutique hotel.
I arrived first.
Rowan came ten minutes later.
She was thirty-four.
Dark hair pulled back.
No makeup except mascara.
She looked tired.
Not glamorous.
Not triumphant.
That irritated me more than if she had arrived dripping in diamonds.
I had imagined the woman who helped destroy my marriage as someone impossible.
Instead, she looked human.
She sat down.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I didn’t come for you.”
“I understand.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think you do.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Probably not.”
A waiter approached.
Neither of us ordered food.
Rowan folded her hands.
“Julian is Aleric’s.”
The sentence was so direct I almost admired it.
Almost.
“How long?”
She hesitated.
“You mean us?”
“Yes.”
“On and off for years.”
“Before me?”
“Yes.”
“During me?”
Her silence answered.
I felt something hollow open inside my chest.
“How long during my marriage?”
“Saraphina—”
“How long?”
“Not continuously.”
“That was not the question.”
She looked toward the window.
“Most of it.”
I sat back.
Five years.
Birthday dinners.
Holidays.
Business trips.
Charity galas.
The nights he told me he was too tired.
The weekends Eleanor insisted he spend at the club because he needed time with men who understood his responsibilities.
Most of it.
Rowan continued.
“I’m not proud of this.”
“Please don’t tell me how you feel about sleeping with my husband.”
She flinched.
Good.
Maybe I was not as calm as I thought.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“I want Julian protected.”
“From whom?”
Her answer surprised me.
“Eleanor.”
I stared.
Rowan leaned forward.
“You think Eleanor brought Julian into your house because she suddenly developed compassion?”
“She said you couldn’t care for him.”
“I can care for him.”
“Then why is he there?”
Her eyes filled.
For the first time, I saw fear.
Not embarrassment.
Fear.
“Because Aleric told me I had two choices.”
I said nothing.
“He said Julian could grow up with the Sterling name, the education, the inheritance, everything that came with being his son.”
“Or?”
“Or I could keep him and never receive a cent.”
“That doesn’t prevent you from keeping your own child.”
“No.”
“So why didn’t you?”
Rowan looked ashamed.
“My mother has stage-four debt.”
I frowned.
She almost smiled.
“That sounded stupid.”
“What does it mean?”
“She spent years caring for my father before he died. Medical bills. Loans. The house is mortgaged twice. Aleric had been paying some of it.”
There it was.
Money.
The oldest Sterling language.
“He threatened to stop.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave him Julian.”
“I agreed to temporary guardianship.”
“Eleanor said adoption.”
Rowan’s face changed.
“What?”
“They said Aleric was adopting him.”
“No.”
“You didn’t agree?”
“No.”
Her voice rose, then she caught herself.
“I signed guardianship paperwork while I recovered from delivery. Six months. That was all.”
I watched her.
“Why contact me?”
“Because Aleric stopped returning my calls.”
“Maybe he’s busy.”
“Don’t.”
The sharpness startled me.
“I know what I did to you,” she said. “You have every right to hate me. But I know Aleric too.”
“Apparently.”
“He doesn’t shut me out unless he’s already decided something.”
I thought about his phone call.
The paperwork is almost finished.
“What do you think he decided?”
“That Eleanor convinced him Julian should legally become a Sterling without me.”
“He is already Aleric’s son.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
Control.
Name.
Access.
Custody.
Inheritance.
Rowan reached into her bag.
“I brought something.”
She slid a copied document across the table.
A letter.
From Sterling Family Holdings.
I scanned it.
The wording was dense.
But I understood enough.
A trust distribution amendment.
A provision concerning the first legally recognized male descendant of Aleric Sterling.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
“Eleanor talked about it after Julian was born.”
“How did you get it?”
“Aleric left it at my apartment.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because Julian’s existence triggers something in the family trust.”
“What?”
“I don’t know exactly. But Eleanor became obsessed with paperwork after the birth.”
I photographed the document.
“You said first male descendant.”
“Yes.”
“What if Aleric had another child?”
“I don’t know.”
My hand went unconsciously to my stomach.
Rowan noticed.
Her face changed.
“Saraphina.”
I said nothing.
“You’re pregnant.”
It was not a question.
I folded the letter.
“That is not your concern.”
She stared at me.
Then something close to horror moved across her face.
“If Eleanor knows—”
“She doesn’t.”
“You need to tell your lawyer.”
“I already have one.”
“Good.”
I stood.
Rowan reached for my wrist, then stopped before touching me.
“There’s something else.”
I looked down at her.
“Five years ago,” she said, “I wasn’t invited to your wedding because I was family.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why were you invited?”
“Aleric wanted me there.”
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Because the night before he married you, he made me a promise.”
I waited.
Rowan opened her mouth.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen and went white.
“What?”
She turned the phone toward me.
One message.
From Aleric.
I know you’re with Saraphina.
May you like
Before either of us could speak, another message appeared.
Do not leave the hotel. I’m coming upstairs.
