Chapter 3

He froze. A momentary flicker of confusion crossed his features.

Seven years ago, in that tiny, run-down studio apartment, we made our vows to each other.

He had sworn that whether poor or rich, he would love me just the same.

Standing here now, I knew without a doubt that he had completely forgotten.

"That day was our seventh wedding anniversary," I said softly.

A flicker of guilt flashed across his face, but it was quickly swallowed up by sheer irritation.

"All this drama over some pointless ritual? Nora, since when did you become so shallow?"

"I bust my ass every single day entertaining clients and running a company! Who do you think I'm doing all this for? For this home!"

*Home?*

Could this hollow, freezing mansion—a place devoid of even a trace of his presence—actually be called a home?

A sudden, violent cramp tore through my stomach. I instinctively doubled over, cold sweat beading on my forehead in seconds.

"What's wrong with you now?" he asked with a deep frown. There wasn't an ounce of concern in his voice—only the annoyance of being interrupted.

"Nothing," I forced myself to straighten my spine. I refused to show him any weakness.

"Julian, the paperwork is on the counter. Sign it, and we'll both be free."

"Once it's done, you can hand the title of Mrs. Vance to whoever you want."

He stared at me, as if he were seeing a complete stranger.

"Nora, are you seeing someone else?"

"I knew it! You've been acting completely out of your mind lately. You must be—"

*Smack.*

I slapped him hard across the face.

The sharp crack echoed loudly through the cavernous bedroom.

He clutched his cheek, staring at me in total disbelief.

I looked down at my own hand. My palm was still stinging from the impact.

"Julian Vance, don't project your disgusting habits onto me!"

His temper erupted. He clamped a hand around my wrist, squeezing with bruising force.

"Nora, let me make one thing crystal clear. A divorce? Don't even dream about it!"

"You'll stay in this marriage whether you like it or not!"

"Unless I decide to throw you away, you aren't going anywhere!"

Staring into his manic, possessive eyes, the truth finally dawned on me.

It wasn't that he loved me. It wasn't that he needed me.

He simply couldn't accept that the woman he had neglected and controlled for seven years was daring to walk out on him.

It bruised his fragile ego. It challenged his absolute authority.

"Julian," I met his gaze, my voice deadly calm. "I wasn't asking for your permission. I was notifying you."

He glared at me, his chest heaving up and down.

Finally, he threw my hand away with disgust, as if he had just touched poison.

"Fine! Great! You want to play tough, Nora?"

"Let's see how long you last out there without me and my money!"

He spun around and stormed out, slamming the heavy front door behind him.

The deafening bang rattled the walls of the mansion, ringing painfully in my ears.

Leaning heavily against the sofa, my legs gave out, and I sank onto the floor. Agony rolled through my gut like a tidal wave.

My hands trembled as I dug a plastic bottle from my purse. Shaking out two white pills, I choked them down dry.

The bitter chemical taste burned all the way down my throat and into my chest.

My story with Julian hadn't started out this way.

During our first year of marriage, we were truly happy.

He broke away from his family's trust fund, determined to build his own startup from scratch.

We rented a tiny place that froze in the winter and turned into an oven in the summer.

He worked from dawn to dusk, meeting investors and drinking himself sick. I took on endless freelance design gigs, drawing through the night until my vision blurred.

My meager income kept our heads above water and kept his business afloat during the hardest times.

He used to pull me into his arms, tears in his eyes. "Nora, you're suffering so much for me."

"Once I make it big, I'll make it all up to you a thousand times over."

Pressed against his chest, I truly believed that as long as we were together, even the bitterest struggle was sweet.

Eventually, his company took off. It grew massive, successful beyond our wildest dreams.

We moved into this sprawling estate. We had more money than we could ever spend.

And yet, his arrival times at home grew later and later.

It started with unfamiliar perfume lingering on his coats. Then came the smudge of lipstick on his collars.

Then came the flirty texts and late-night calls popping up on his phone screen.

I screamed. I cried. I demanded answers.

In the beginning, he made half-hearted excuses. Later, he couldn't even be bothered to lie, snapping at me to stop being paranoid.

"It's just business networking! You're always going to be Mrs. Vance. Isn't that enough for you?"

No. It wasn't enough.

I wanted loyalty. I wanted to be his one and only. I wanted the pure, untainted love we had back in our twenties.

I didn't want an empty, hollow title.

With every broken promise, my heart grew colder and colder, until it finally withered away.

It took a terminal diagnosis from a doctor for me to suddenly wake up and realize what a complete joke my last seven years had been.