Chapter 3

I took the necklace, walked over to the window, and pushed it open.

The wind from the fourteenth floor rushed in, making the curtains flutter wildly.

"Chloe, what are you doing?" Ethan’s voice came from behind, laced with sudden tension.

Without looking back, I opened my hand.

The silver chain flashed in the sunlight like a falling star before disappearing into the bushes below.

"Are you crazy?!" Ethan leaped out of bed, running barefoot to the window to look down. "That was Cartier! That cost over seven thousand dollars!"

"I know."

I brushed my hands together and turned to face him.

"You gave my gift to someone else, and I threw away the necklace you'll never wear. Fair trade."

Brooke sat on the bed, tears still wet on her face. "Chloe, do you really hate me that much?"

"Why would I hate you?"

I tilted my head and smiled at her.

"You're just wearing my husband's clothes and sleeping in my husband's bed. No big deal, right?"

She choked on her words, her face flushing red and then turning pale.

Ethan stood by the window, the sunlight casting his long shadow across the floor.

He looked at me with anger, irritation, and a hint of something else I couldn't quite read.

"Chloe, is all this really necessary?"

"Yes, it is."

I grabbed the other pillow from the bed, walked to the door, and took one last look at them.

"I'm giving you thirty minutes to get out of my apartment."

"This is my apartment too!" his voice turned cold.

"Actually, it's marital property. If you have an issue with that, you can talk to my lawyer."

I walked out of the bedroom and shut the door behind me.

When I married Ethan three years ago, my mom told me that marriage takes work.

She said that when two people live together, there will always be friction and disagreements. She told me to communicate, compromise, and things would get better.

I believed her.

The first year, he told me Brooke was just a childhood friend and told me not to worry.

The second year, he said Brooke had broken up with her boyfriend and was depressed, so he needed to spend more time supporting her.

The third year, he claimed Brooke was going through some family issues and needed a place to stay for a few days, so he put her in our guest room.

I kept stepping back, kept compromising, and kept telling myself that marriage requires trust and patience.

I pulled out my phone and sent a Snapchat message to my assistant, Daisy.

"Help me find a good divorce lawyer and draft the paperwork."

Daisy replied instantly: "Wait, are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"On it. Honestly, I've been waiting for you to say this."

I put my phone in my pocket and walked out of the kitchen with a bottle of water.

In the living room, Brooke had already changed into her clothes and was putting on her shoes at the entryway.

Seeing me come out, she paused, then straightened up and smiled at me.

That smile was completely different from the pitiful face she had shown in the bedroom.

"Chloe, I'm really sorry about today. It was my fault. Please don't be mad at Ethan."

Her voice was still soft, but her eyes held a smug, triumphant gleam.

"I'm not mad. Now get out."

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by my absolute calm.

As the door clicked shut, I heard her light, cheerful footsteps heading down the hallway. She was actually humming a song.

She was in such a good mood that she was singing.

I sat down on the sofa with my water bottle and began planning my next steps.