Four hundred guests.
Press invited.
I looked through the window while the city grew smaller beneath me.
Daniel had always loved performing for an audience.
That was exactly why I had made sure he would have one.
Six hours after our divorce became official, Daniel married Vanessa.
Ending our marriage wasn’t enough.
He wanted a spectacle.
He wanted people watching.
He wanted photographs.
He wanted everyone who mattered to see that he had “moved on” before the ink on our divorce papers was dry.
Their reception was being held at the Halberg Hotel.
The irony almost made me laugh.
Years earlier, Daniel had once left me sitting alone in that same hotel lobby while Vanessa—who was supposedly his “marketing consultant” at the time—was upstairs in his suite.
I wasn’t physically present at the reception, but I knew nearly every detail.
The florist sent me a photograph of the white rose arrangements.
The hotel manager forwarded the final event invoice.
The catering director emailed me the updated guest count.
None of them knew me as Claire Whitmore, Daniel Pierce’s discarded former wife.
To them, I was C.W. Vale.
