When It Finally Snows in Manhattan Chapter 02

When It Finally Snows in Manhattan Chapter 02

After getting his confident reply, I hung up, feeling like my heart had been hollowed out.

All of New York knew I left my litigation career for broadcast journalism just to marry Julian.

His mother used to look down on me, saying lawyers were “all talk.”

Julian made me NY1’s lead anchor, got me Emmy-nominated, and won me industry awards—that shut her up.

But at the peak of my glory, Julian manufactured rain for a showgirl.

I fell from grace, and he laughed viciously in my ear, “Jealous? When I chased you, I put in way more effort than this. Can’t I make some girl smile out there anymore?”

I understood more and more.

Once he had me, I became trash he could trample whenever he pleased.

That same night, the station chief called me in urgently.

I rushed to prep my scripts and was about to head into the studio when Yvonne Sinclair walked straight toward me.

“Claire, Julian said I could give it a shot on air tonight. You don’t mind, do you?”

She eyed my scripts greedily, as if victory was already hers.

I’d imagined he would spoil Yvonne.

But reality turned out to be even crueler than I thought.

I let out a self-mocking laugh and let go of the scripts.

Julian sat in the control room, watching with amusement as she fumbled through her first live broadcast. Her stiff delivery made him laugh.

He couldn’t hide the adoration in his eyes if he tried.

Me? For the first time in years, they had me sidelined on the backup crew. Yvonne ordered me around like her personal assistant. I fetched her coffee. Hauled her water. And off camera, I was the one rewriting her scripts—swallowing every ounce of my pride.

Coworkers who’d once looked down on me kept sniping.

“Yvonne’s been here three days and she’s already landed airtime. Claire might be the station’s golden girl, but so what? She’s getting benched like the rest of us.”

“Isn’t Claire the one obsessed with snow? Guess what—as long as Yvonne’s around, we’re not seeing a single flake this year.”

“Bet five hundred bucks on who takes home the trophy tomorrow. My money’s on Yvonne.”

…

After the broadcast, Julian brought Yvonne to me, beaming. “So? Yvonne did great, right? I told you she has real potential.”

He didn’t even try to hide the pride in his voice.

I just gave a hollow “yeah” and turned away, walking into the break room.

Julian frowned, watching my back as if he wanted to say something.

The crowd’s chorus of congratulations pulled him right back to Yvonne.

I locked the door, but the noise outside still seeped through.

I drank some coffee to wake myself up, and my phone suddenly received an anonymous audio file.

I clicked it open, compelled by some force, and Yvonne’s panicked, terrified voice spilled out.

“Julian, what do I do? Claire’s mom just ran right out in front of me. It was pouring that night—I couldn’t see a thing.”

“Help me, Julian. I can lay low for a while, just please don’t let them put me in prison. I’m begging you.”

My heart seized. I held my breath, waiting for what came next.

The audio stayed silent for at least three minutes. Then Julian’s voice followed, gentle and cruel.

“Here’s a plane ticket to Italy. I’ll handle the rest.”