When It Finally Snows in Manhattan Chapter 01

When It Finally Snows in Manhattan Chapter 01

As New York City’s most famous weather forecaster, my forecasts were never accurate.

Over time, people caught on. In New York, whether it rained or snowed depended on whether Julian Vance’s mistress was crying or laughing.

One second I’d be on air predicting a blizzard.

The next, the sky would clear completely.

My boss mocked me in front of the entire newsroom. “You used to be the face of this station. Now look at you. Your husband throws a fortune into manipulating the weather for his mistress—so why the hell are you still standing in front of that green screen?”

A coworker nearby cut in ruthlessly. “I heard his new side piece can’t handle the cold. Guess that means we won’t see a single snowflake all winter. She’s gonna get written up into an early grave.”

I clutched a stack of over a dozen write-ups and kept my mouth shut.

Back home, I tossed the penalty notices at Julian with a blank face. “Clean up your own mess. I’m done being Mrs. Vance.”

***

Julian picked up a slip, paused, then let out an amused laugh. “So the snow didn’t show, you got clowned on live TV, and now you’re taking it out on me?”

“I’m serious. I want a divorce,” I said, stressing every word.

His smug smile froze when he sensed my resolve.

The butler, standing by with coffee, went rigid.

A few seconds later, he broke the silence with a cold scoff. “Claire, I thought you’d made your peace with this by now. You don’t want a repeat of what happened three years ago, do you?”

The memories hit me like a tidal wave.

Three years ago.

On the jumbotron in Times Square, I had predicted clear skies for all five boroughs and reminded viewers to wear sunscreen.

Julian, meanwhile, spent a fortune on artificial rain for a new showgirl at his casino.

Dark clouds rolled in, and I became the biggest joke in New York media.

My followers dragged me online. I couldn’t even show my face. That day, I got the first formal write-up of my entire career.

That night, I stormed Julian’s casino and, in front of everyone, slapped the showgirl over a dozen times until her ears bled.

He lounged on a sofa, calmly watching me lose my mind.

Then I learned my mom had rushed over to comfort me and got into a car accident on the way. She was paralyzed from the chest down, confined to a bed for life.

I shattered. I became hysterical.

He told me calmly, “A Vance wife moves with discretion. You didn’t get it before, but experience is a brutal teacher. Now you get it.”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t find my voice.

Every memory from the past cut into me like a knife, every single day.

Seeing my silence, Julian softened his tone and gestured at the mountain of gift boxes on the coffee table.

“Good girl. So you know you were out of line. Everything with a price tag in this city has your name on it, Mrs. Vance. What more could you possibly want?”

With a nod from him, the butler unveiled a custom gown.

Every limited-edition designer piece that Manhattan socialites fought over now crammed my walk-in closet.

But I knew the truth. They were his guilt offerings after the affairs.

Wearing them out felt no different from being paraded through the streets in shame.

I let out a cold laugh and splashed my coffee across the gown.

Everyone around us gasped.

Julian stared at his silk shirt, now ruined with stains, and lost the last of his patience with me. “Claire Vance, enough!”

A scalding splash of coffee hit my skin, instantly raising blisters.

The pain curled my fingers and made my scalp prickle.

His breath caught, but the ruthlessness in his eyes didn’t fade one bit. “Yvonne’s an intern at your station. You can take her under your wing, and if you can’t manage that, I’ll launch her career myself.”

His gaze shifted to my award trophies, filled with warning.

For a woman like me who lived for her career, he had countless ways to destroy me.

I swallowed my bitterness and pressed my lips into a smile. “Fine.”

Shock flickered in his eyes, but then a phone call interrupted him. His tone turned tender in an instant. “Okay. Wait for me.”

He hung up and strode away without looking back.

Watching his barely concealed elation, I wiped my tears and called Sebastian Kane, my old friend and lawyer. “Help me get a divorce. I’ll honor our five-year pact right now.”