Chapter 4

Without another word, he scooped Charlotte Matthews into his arms and strode out.

The room plunged back into silence.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaotic mess he'd left behind. Minutes bled into each other. I didn't move. Couldn't. Not until the sharp trill of an alarm clock shattered the quiet.

A glance at the nightstand. A reminder I had set days ago.

*Right.* Today was our third wedding anniversary.

Walter Dickerson had promised me an unforgettable holiday.

A bitter smile touched my lips. *Well. These past few days have been like a fever dream. How could that not count as unforgettable?*

Packing didn't take long. I had very little to my name.

Material things had never mattered much to me. I rarely bought anything for myself. The clothes, bags, and cosmetics cluttering the room were mostly gifts from Walter. Now that I knew the filth behind his generosity, they might as well have been garbage.

Fortunately, I had savings from my working days—enough to relocate and start over with dignity.

After packing, I returned to the bedroom to rest.

---

The next morning, the moment I opened my eyes, Walter was sitting by the bed.

Bloodshot eyes. Thunderous expression.

The second he saw me stir, the interrogation began.

"What are you doing packing your luggage?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "I made a small mistake, and you won't even let me explain? You're getting ready to run away from home?"

A scoff. "You've been with me since you were eighteen. Can you even survive without me? You aren't young anymore, yet you're still acting like a petulant child throwing a tantrum."

The accusations came in a barrage—sentence after sentence—leaving me no room to breathe, let alone respond.

I looked at the redness rimming his eyes and sighed softly. Just as I hesitated, debating whether to tell him I was leaving for good, he plowed on.

"You know how it is. Charlotte has been spoiled since she was little. Go apologize to her, and we'll treat this whole mess as if it never happened."

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my throat.

So *that* was why he came back.

I couldn't count how many times I had capitulated to Charlotte.

Completed business plans handed over to her because *"Charlotte needs the recognition more than you."* The jade bracelet my mother left me on her deathbed—smashed by Charlotte. And Walter, blind to right and wrong, told me to be the *bigger person.*

During a company retreat, we were in a car accident. Walter had scrambled to protect Charlotte, who had barely scraped her skin.

He hadn't even glanced at me.

I'd sat there with blood streaming down my forehead, invisible.

A wave of dizziness washed over me.

*I've been wronged for so long.*

The love I thought existed was just a defense mechanism. My subconscious had been lying to me, whispering that as long as I didn't acknowledge the truth, I was still loved.

In that case, I really should thank Charlotte. She forced me to see reality. She gave me the courage to take this step.

Seeing my prolonged silence, Walter lost his patience.

He lunged forward. Fingers tangled in my hair. He dragged me toward the mirror.

"Everything you have was given to you by me!" he roared. "You haven't worked for three years. If you leave me, you won't survive a week."

He shoved my face toward my reflection. "If you don't go apologize, I'm cutting off your cards. Let's see how long you last then."

He released me.

Stormed out.

Slammed the door.

I tilted my head, studying my reflection in confusion.

Why did he think I was a canary that couldn't fly?

I hadn't worked for three years because I had dedicated my body and soul to IVF treatments. It had been *his* suggestion. He had sworn that even if I never worked again, he would support me for a lifetime.

Now, he used that sacrifice as a weapon to stab me.

Had he forgotten that when his company was just a startup, its initial reputation was built by me—the desperate, tenacious woman who fought tooth and nail for every contract?

Not long after Walter left, my phone buzzed. A message from Charlotte.

I tapped it open.

And froze.

Photos flooded the screen.

Explicit.

Brazen.

Obscene.

The protagonists were unmistakably Walter Dickerson and Charlotte Matthews.

Walter had one ironclad rule in bed: no kissing.

Even if I initiated it, he would push me away. If I persisted, he would stop everything and leave the room, no matter how far things had progressed.

But in these photos?

He and Charlotte were kissing with a desperate, consuming intensity.

I scrolled through the images, my expression blank, and clicked save.

Charlotte was as malicious as she was foolish. I had been worried about finding concrete proof of their affair for the divorce filing, and here she was, delivering it on a silver platter.

---

On the day of my flight, I felt lighter than I had in years.

Just before boarding, a text from Walter popped up on my screen.

*Have you reflected enough? Charlotte is waiting in the hospital for your apology.*

I lowered my gaze. My fingers danced lightly over the keyboard.

*Let's divorce.*