Chapter 2

He froze, clearly not expecting those words from my mouth.

In his mind, I was supposed to cry, scream, and demand an explanation about his relationship with Victoria.

Then he’d impatiently brush it off, claim I was overthinking, accuse me of causing a scene, and as always, I would swallow the humiliation and keep playing the good wife.

Not this time.

“What did you say?” He swung his legs out of bed, shoved his feet into his slippers, and strode toward me.

“I want a divorce.”

“Chloe, stop acting crazy,” he sneered, frowning. “Over one stupid text? Are you really making a scene over this?”

One stupid text?

To him, years of emotional neglect, cold indifference, and disrespect boiled down to “one text.”

“Ethan, do you remember what you told me at my dad’s funeral?”

His expression tightened.

“‘My condolences.’”

“The second you said it, you walked off to take a phone call. Who was it from? Victoria Brooks. She had just landed back in the country, hadn't she?”

“You stood outside that chapel for twenty minutes. When you came back, your eyes were red. I was stupid enough to think you were grieving for me. Only later did I realize you were crying tears of joy because she was back.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I was a fool back then, thinking you actually had a heart.”

I glanced at our framed wedding photo on the dresser. We looked perfect together, like a fairytale couple.

Except it was all staged. The photographer told us to smile, so we smiled.

“When did you start seeing her behind my back?” I asked.

“Chloe—”

“The day she landed? Or even before that?”

He stayed silent for several long seconds, then muttered, “We never crossed the line.”

Never crossed the line.

“A married man getting black-out drunk at another woman’s wedding, sobbing her name, while she texts him romantic ‘what-ifs’ on her wedding night—and you call that not crossing the line?”

“It was her wedding day! She was probably just emotional—”

“Ethan!” I snapped, my sudden raise in volume making him flinch.

I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage bubbling inside me.

“Can you stop making excuses for her? Just once... could you stand on my side and think about me?”

He stared at me, his jaw clamped shut.

Then, he dropped a sentence that turned my heart to ice.

“Chloe, I know you’re stressed, but Victoria is an old friend. Don’t make this ugly.”

An old friend. Ugly.

He was afraid of losing face.

This man had lived his entire life wrapped up in his precious vanity.

I nodded, stepped around him, and walked toward the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?”

“To the study. To draft the divorce settlement.”

“Chloe!”

I didn’t stop.

Behind me came the sound of a kicked slipper, but his footsteps never followed.

I walked into the study, locked the door, and sat at my desk.

The laptop screen lit up. I opened a blank document, my fingers hovering over the keys for a long moment.

When I said the word *divorce*, I thought I’d feel terrified.

Yet sitting here, I felt an eerie sense of peace. Like I was finally solving a math problem I should have finished years ago.

I typed the header: *Divorce Agreement*.

Right then, my phone rang. It was my mother.

“Chloe, Ethan’s father called earlier. He said you two had a fight?”

My mother-in-law never dealt with me directly; she always preferred pulling my mother’s strings.

“Mom, we didn’t just fight. I’m divorcing him.”

Silence fell over the line, followed by my mother’s panicked shrieks:

“Are you out of your mind?! Do you know what kind of family the Vances are? If you leave him, where will you live? How will you support yourself? Leo is going to college next year—who’s going to pay for his SAT prep and tuition?!”

All anyone ever cared about was where I’d live, what I’d eat, and who would pay the bills.

Not a single person asked if I was hurting.