Chapter 2
Dust coated everything in the cramped apartment, the air hung thick with a stale, mildewy smell.
I let my suitcase drop carelessly by the bed and slumped onto the stiff wooden frame, fishing out my phone.
Contacts deleted. Photos wiped. Chat logs cleared.
My finger hovered over our last photo together-our wedding day. In it, his mouth a flat, indifferent line
I had smiled so hard my cheeks ached, straining to bridge the emptiness.
Hah.
I tapped delete. The screen flashed white.
I left a voice message for Mr. Harrington, “Keep the house, the cars, the accounts,I don’t want any of it. I’ve
already signed. Just make it quick.”
After sending it, I yanked out the SIM card and tossed it into the trash.
Silence fell, gritty and still.Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes, and the memory rose unbidden, the scent of old paper and polished wood from ten years ago at the Grand Athenaeum of Veridia.
I had been carrying a stack of books taller than my waist when my foot slipped. Frederick pass by and
reached out to steady me without a word, offering only a brief, quiet smile.
I carried that one moment for a decade.
Later, Beatrice found me. “Evelyn, you care for him. Let me secure this for you.”
I protested, flustered. “Grandmother, I can’t.”
“I say you can.” She rapped the desk firmly. “Marry him. Keep him in check. His nature is wild. Watch him at
home,and steer him clear of unsavory company.”
On our wedding night, she called me into the study and pressed a notebook into my hands.
“Log everywhere he goes, everyone he meets. Make a scene when you must, investigate when needed. Let
him know someone rules this household.”
My nails bit into my palm as I clutched the book. “He’ll hate me, Grandmother.”
“A wife managing her husband is only natural.”
So I did as she demanded,dozens of calls each day, tracking his movements, smashing his
belongings,watching the disgust deepen in his eyes with every passing season.
Atop the Sterling Group building, Frederick stood gazing over Veridia City.
Isabella entered, holding a cup of coffee, her voice soft as silk. “Frederick, drink something warm. Still
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restless?”
He accepted it and sipped.
“Shouldn’t you be relieved Evelyn’s gone?” She moved behind him, tentatively resting her hands on his
shoulders to massage them. “This is usually when her calls would start flooding in.”
His shoulders tensed slightly. A self-mocking smirk touched his lips. “Who knows what new trick she’s
brewing. That woman has always been calculating.”
Yet his eyes drifted to his silent phone. Last night, she’d left too quietly, without a single backward glance.
Isabella laughed lightly. “True. Your grandmother adored her. She won’t stay away for long.”
Frederick didn’t reply, caught instead by the hollow look in Evelyn’s eyes as she walked out, like something
inside had been scooped empty.
That afternoon, I returned to the Grand Athenaeum. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, falling
exactly where it had ten years earlier.
I twisted the loose wedding band around my finger. It spun easily, too big now. I tried to tug it off and throw it
away, strained for a long moment-but let my hand drop. Leave it. I wouldn’t need to wear it much longer
anyway.
Pain erupted behind my eyes, a drill grinding into my skull. I bit down hard, pressing my temples until my
knuckles whitened, cold sweat tracing my jawline.
Then my backup phone buzzed. Beatrice, calling from a new number.
“Evelyn! Why did you turn off your phone?” Her voice broke into ragged sobs. “I’m going to find Frederick,I’ll
tell him everything, how wrong he was-”
“Grandmother.” My voice stayed flat, stripped of feeling. “Don’t.”
“But Frederick-”
“He finally feels free.” I cut her off with a bitter laugh. “Don’t tell him you forced me to control him. It’ll only
make him pity me more. Look down on me harder.”
She choked on tears. “Evelyn, why must you bear this alone…”
“Let it end here, Grandmother.”
I ended the call and powered off the device. Outside, rain began to fall, fine and steady.
Back in the apartment, I retrieved a yellowed slip of paper from beneath the pillow,it was written the night before our wedding.
One line, If he ever asks, tell him I never loved him. That way, he carries no guilt.
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I stared at those words until they blurred, then tore the paper into tiny shreds, scattering them into the
dust-filled bin.
Rain drummed louder against the glass. I switched off the light and lay alone in the dark.
Strangely, relief washed over me-heavy, but mine.
Chapter 2
