Chapter 3

"Of course not." I cut her off, my smile even gentler and more gracious than hers. "We're family. Why fuss over every little thing? But you, Jasmine—you'd do well to be more careful going forward. Don't let some unnecessary misunderstanding hurt your career, or the Henson stock price. Wouldn't you agree?"

My words left no opening. Jasmine's smile stiffened for a moment. She looked to Emmet for help, but he only kept his eyes lowered, toying with the sapphire cufflink at his sleeve, as if the war in front of him had nothing to do with him.

The auction started soon after.

When the host brought out the oil painting titled Waiting, Jasmine eagerly raised her paddle.

"Six hundred thousand." Her voice was sweet and coy, and she even turned to glance our way, the provocation plain to see.

I didn't move. I only turned my head toward Emmet beside me and said, in a voice only the two of us could hear, "Raise your paddle."

Emmet didn't move. His jaw was tight, clearly a silent protest.

The smile on my lips faded a little. My hand slid down from the crook of his arm and gently covered the back of the hand resting on his knee.

"Emmet," my voice was soft, but carried a command that brooked no argument, "do you want me to call right now and pull the plug on the show Jasmine's starring in?"

His hand tightened in an instant, his knuckles going white.

I could feel the anger he was holding down and the fierce struggle beneath his palm.

A full ten-odd seconds passed, and just as the host was about to bring down the gavel, he finally, slowly, raised the paddle in his hand.

"One million."

His voice was cold as ice.

The whole room broke into an uproar. No one had expected Emmet to step in himself and bid against his own "first love."

The color drained from Jasmine's face in an instant. She stared at Emmet in disbelief, her eyes full of shock and hurt.

"Emmet, you…"

Watching her teeter on the edge like that, my mood inexplicably lifted.

I wanted everyone to see it. Your first love is worth nothing to me. As long as I want it, he can throw a fortune away on you—and for my sake, he can just as easily leave you utterly humiliated.

The mood of the auction turned delicate because of the shift on our side.

Jasmine clearly wasn't going to let it go. She bit her lip, her eyes rimmed red, and raised her paddle again. "One million one hundred thousand."

I didn't even have to speak. I simply tapped the back of Emmet's hand twice with my fingertips, lightly, in rhythm.

Emmet closed his eyes, as if resigning himself to fate, and raised the paddle again.

"Two million."

This time he didn't even bother to glance at Jasmine. He just stared, expressionless, at the painting on the stage, as if it weren't a work of art but an enemy of his.

The murmuring in the room grew louder. This was no longer a simple bidding war—it was a blatant slap in the face. With his own hands, Emmet was grinding Jasmine's face into the ground.

In the end, Jasmine set down her paddle in defeat, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears as she glared at me, that stare as if she wanted to swallow me alive. I met her gaze calmly, and threw in a winner's smile for good measure.

Waiting sold to Emmet for two million dollars.

After the auction, in fine spirits, I took Emmet's arm and swept out through a crowd of complicated stares.

Back in the car, the man who had been so gentle and refined moments ago tore off the mask in an instant.

With a bang, he hurled the carefully wrapped painting onto the back seat.

"Dora, are you satisfied now?" He started the car, his voice thick with anger he couldn't hold down, the steering wheel groaning under his grip.

"It's fine, I guess." I gazed at the neon lights streaking backward past the window and answered lazily. "Two million was actually a little cheap."

"You—!" He stomped on the brakes, the car screeching against the curb. Momentum threw me hard forward; thankfully the seatbelt held me.

"Do you really have to do this?" He turned his head, his eyes burning with two frightening flames in the dim car. "Humiliating her, humiliating me like this—is it fun for you?"

"Yes." I met his gaze without backing down. "Very fun. Seeing that face on Jasmine, wanting to cry but not daring to. Seeing you like this, wanting to blow up but not daring to. I couldn't be happier."

That's how vicious I am. I want to jab him with the sharpest thorns—and jab myself too. We torment each other, hurt each other, sinking and rotting together in this loveless marriage.

"Dora," he looked at me, his eyes churning with emotions I couldn't read, thick with anger, disappointment, and a trace of… pain?

After a long while, he suddenly went slack like a deflated ball, all the menace draining out of him.

He started the car again and said wearily, "What is it going to take for you to let me go, and to let yourself go too?"

His words stabbed hard at my heart.

Yes. What exactly did I want?

I forced him to marry me, tied him to my side, and used tormenting him to vent a love I could never have.

But in these three years, had I gotten even a sliver of happiness? No. Every victory was like drinking poison to quench a thirst. After the brief rush of pleasure came a deeper emptiness and despair.

Looking at my own pale, twisted face reflected in the car window, I suddenly felt tired. So very tired.

When I got home, I didn't go looking to give him grief the way I usually did. Instead I went straight to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

My phone buzzed twice—a WhatsApp message from my best friend, Olive.

Holy crap! Dora, you were an absolute badass today! That scumbag Emmet dropped two million on you, and that snake Jasmine was green in the face! So satisfying!

But seriously, aren't you tired? Watching you go head to head with a schemer like that every single day wears me out just looking at it.

Reading Olive's words, my eyes went hot without warning.

Was I tired? Of course I was tired.

I typed back: Olive, I think… I can't keep this up anymore.

After sending that message, I tossed my phone aside, buried my face in the pillow, and the tears I'd held down for so long finally came pouring out. Maybe it had been a mistake from the very start. Love you force into being comes to nothing in the end. Rather than burning myself out in this endless tug-of-war, better to just let go.

The next day, for the first time ever, I didn't go in to the company. I called my private attorney and had him draft a divorce agreement. The division of assets was simple: I wanted nothing. Everything I had brought to Henson back then, I would return to him untouched.

All I wanted was my freedom.