My ex-husband strutted into our toddler’s pool party flaunting his twenty-five-year-old mistress, practically choking on his own ego.

The following Friday night, my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter while I was helping Toby build a Lego spaceship.

It was a text from Julian: “Get a babysitter for tonight. Pick you up at 7:00 PM. Wear something you haven't worn to court.”

I stared at the screen, a nervous flutter igniting in my stomach. A date? Was this a date?

After scrambling to find my trusted neighbor, Mrs. Gable, to watch Toby for the evening, I stood in front of my bedroom closet staring at a rack of clothes that mostly consisted of sensible cardigans and thrift-store blouses. Finally, I dug out a sleek, emerald-green silk wrap dress I hadn't worn since before my marriage to Luke—a dress that hugged my curves and made me feel, for the first time in years, like a vibrant, confident woman rather than an exhausted single mother.

At exactly seven o'clock, a low horn beeped outside.

I stepped out onto the porch to find Julian’s black town car idling in the driveway. Julian stepped out of the back seat, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo with an open-collared crisp white shirt, looking like he had stepped straight out of the pages of a luxury magazine.

When he saw me walking down the steps, his ice-blue eyes widened slightly, and a breathless, genuine smile spread across his handsome face.

"Good grief, Clara," Julian murmured as I reached the car, holding the door open for me. "If I had known you possessed a dress like that, I would have subpoenaed you months ago."

I laughed, sliding into the plush leather interior. "Is that your legal pickup line, Counselor?"

"Only for special clients," he winked, closing the door and sliding in beside me.

The car glided smoothly through the city streets, eventually pulling up to the base of the tallest luxury high-rise in downtown Boston. Instead of a crowded restaurant, the private elevator whisked us past the fifty floors of corporate offices straight up to the private penthouse suite at the very top.

When the elevator doors opened, my breath caught in my throat.

The entire penthouse was wrapped in floor-to-ceiling glass walls that offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of the glittering Boston skyline and the harbor below. Soft candlelight flickered from dozens of tapered candles arranged across a small, elegant dining table set for two near the glass. A private chef was quietly packing up a portable station in the corner, leaving behind a steaming, exquisite plate of seared scallops and truffle risotto.

"Julian... this is incredible," I breathed, walking slowly toward the glass windows, mesmerized by the sea of city lights below us.

"You deserve to see the city from a different angle, Clara," Julian said softly, stepping up behind me, his voice carrying a rich, warm vibration. "For too long, you’ve been forced to look at it from the bottom up, fighting for scraps in the dark. It's time you saw what the view looks like from the top."

I turned around slowly, finding myself standing mere inches away from him. The ambient candlelight danced across the sharp angles of his chiseled face, and his intense, ice-blue eyes were fixed entirely on me with a raw, undeniable hunger.

"And what view are you looking at right now, Counselor?" I whispered, my pulse racing.