My husband, Julian, wanted me to put his sister’s name on Thorn, the wine series I had poured my heart and soul into. He said it was just a temporary PR move, a way to salvage his scandal-plagued sister’s reputation. He believed that as the unseen winemaker behind Laurel Valley Winery, I should be willing to make a sacrifice for the family. He thought I would just take it. What he didn’t know was that the moment he treated my life’s work like an asset he could just loan out, our marriage was over. I smiled and nodded, playing along. The second he was gone, I called the best divorce lawyer in California. “I want half of his winery.” … When Julian came home, he was wearing a scent that wasn’t mine. It wasn’t the tart sweetness of fermenting grapes or the quiet depth of Napa Valley oak. It was the cloying, ostentatious sweetness of tuberose—the expensive perfume Seraphina had been obsessed with lately. He didn’t even look at me. He walked straight to the w......
