Lotte, have you really thought this through? Are you sure you want to transfer to Rivendale Hospital?

Dean Warren held Charlotte Sheridans transfer request in his hands, his expression heavy with surprise as he looked at her.

Charlottes lashes quivered faintly, and a bittersweet smile ghosted across her lips. Ive made up my mind.

Realizing her resolve was unshakable, Dean Warren sighed, a reluctant sound in the quiet office, and signed the paperwork at last.

As Charlotte stepped out of his office and into the fluorescent-lit corridor, she found herself face-to-face with Julian Hawthorne and Claire Winslow, who was clad in her pristine white coat, her hand clasping that of a young boy beside her.

Charlotte froze mid-step.

The tableau before her struck like a painting of domestic bliss: Claire, her son, and Julian, walking together in perfect harmony. Claires other hand rested lightly on the boys head, Julians on his shoulder, and the boy let out a peal of laughter that rang unburdened through the sterile hall.

The scene was exquisite. And excruciating.

What Julian offered Claire and her sonhis open patience, his unguarded tendernesshe had never once spared for Charlotte. Not once in six excruciating years.

She knew Julian hated her.

Claire Winslow had been Julians first love. It was only after shed made a deal with Grandma Hawthorne and secured her marriage to Julian by proxy that Charlotte discovered their relationship had ended. And to Julian, her ascent to the role of Mrs. Hawthorne had been nothing short of predatorya calculated betrayal that left him scorched and seething.

But he would never know the truth.

Charlotte had known Julian long before Claire ever entered the picture. She had loved him quietly, from a distance, in days even he had forgotten.

Shed thought marriage to him might jog his recollection, might bridge the gap between the warmth she gave and the heart he withheld. That, eventually, the frost in his eyes would thaw.

She had been unforgivably naive.

He hated her.

And a man who hated her could never love her.

The proof was damning: six years married, yet he lived publicly as though single, refusing even the most casual acknowledgment of her existence.

Dr. Sheridan? Claires voice drew her out of her silent reverie. The woman had noticed her standing there.

Julians head turned sharply, his dark brow furrowing as his eyes locked on her. There was a flicker of something therenot warmth, not recognitionbut caution. Suspicion. As if she might ruin everything by letting a single secret slip.

The sting was swift, but Charlotte shoved it away. Her face remained smooth, practiced. Director Winslow. Mr. Hawthorne.

Julians recent investment in Midtown General Hospital had transformed him into one of its key shareholders. Not that it had anything to do with Charlotte; she knew full well his move was meant to bolster Claires career, not hers.

Claire Winslow had been handpicked by Julian upon her return from abroad, parachuted directly into the coveted role of Director of Surgery. Everyone in the hospital knew she had Julians support. The whispers about the two of themrumors of a romance rekindledfilled every corner of the break room, and Julian had done nothing to deny them.

Claire slipped her arm through Julians casually, smiling as if they were the only two people in this antiseptic world. Doctor Sheridan, youre too formal! Youve been here far longer than I haveIm the newcomer. Ill have to rely on you to show me the ropes.

Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but a small voice cut in before she could.

Daddy, Im tired! Can you carry me, please?

Charlottes breath hitched.

The boy had called Julian Daddy.

Claire feigned indignation, wagging a finger at the child. Xavier Winslow! How many times have I told you not to call Mr. Hawthorne that? She turned to Julian, her expression apologetic. Im so sorry, Julian. Kids say the darndest things.

Yet Julian didnt correct the boy or even seem bothered. His gaze flicked briefly to Charlotte before he crouched and gently swept Xavier up into his arms. Its all right.

Xavier wrapped his little arms around Julians neck, nuzzling against him. I like being carried by Daddy Hawthorne! I wish you really were my daddy!

Claire chuckled fondly, tapping her sons nose. You little rascal.

Charlottes fists curled at her sides, trembling.

The Julian she had just witnessedwarm, tender, humanwas someone entirely unrecognizable to her.

Enough.

Enough pretending. Enough hoping. Enough clinging to the fragile belief that things could someday change.

She lifted her chin, swallowing the bile that rose behind her tongue, and brushed past the three of them without another word. The sound of the elevator doors sliding closed behind her was her only solace.

Charlotte told no one about her transfer request. Certainly not Julian. Why would she? What difference would it make? Hed welcome her absence anywayor worse, he wouldnt even notice.

Later that evening, she drove to the Hawthorne estate. Standing on the grand stone steps, she hesitated briefly before pressing the doorbell. The soft chime echoed somewhere deep within the house.

Soon, Lorna, the familys long-serving housekeeper, appeared at the door. Her face brightened instantly. Mrs. Hawthorne. Youre back.

Is Grandma Hawthorne home?

She is. Please, come in. Lorna opened the door wide, her gestures and tone as deferential as ever.

The matriarch of the Hawthorne family, Grandma Hawthorne, had commanded respect for decades. After her husbands passing, it was she who had presided over the familys sprawling affairs, wielding both ferocity and authority. In her youth, she had been a shrewd businesswoman from the South, a marriage alliance blending her familys immense influence with the Hawthorne fortune. Even her mother-in-law, who had been staunchly critical of her, had eventually learned to tread lightly.

Lorna led Charlotte to the small zen room where Grandma Hawthorne knelt on a cushion, idly rolling a string of smooth prayer beads between her fingers.

Madam, Mrs. Hawthorne is here to see you.

The older woman opened her eyes and turned her head with practiced composure. Come in and sit.

When Lorna had gone, Charlotte lowered herself gracefully onto the adjacent cushion and pressed her palms together in silent reverence to the altar before them.

Grandma Hawthorne had always been devout. Buddhism, proper customs, incense ritualsthis was her domain, a far cry from the shrewd strategist she once was. Temple visits often stretched into weeks-long retreats, the world left to turn without her.

Eyes closed once more, her voice was calm yet resonant. Speak your mind, child.

Grandma, Charlotte said softly, lowering her eyes, I want a divorce from Julian.