Chapter 3

Alexia POV

I had moved into a studio apartment on the ragged edge of the city, a place that smelled permanently of damp plaster and the ghost of old cooking oil.

The faucet in the kitchenette dripped a steady, maddening rhythm against the stained porcelain.

I sat on the scarred linoleum floor, surrounded by boxes. My bank account was pitiful, a hollow echo of the life I was leaving behind.

I had never asked Jacob for a salary. I thought marriage was a partnership, not employment. I was wrong.

I looked at my hands. The left one was strong, capable. The right one was a stiff, aching reminder of my own stupidity.

This was three days before my flight.

A knock hammered on the door.

I opened it. Rain slashed down outside, turning the streetlights into blurry, haloed specters in the dark.

Jacob stood there. He was soaked to the bone. He held a bouquet of white roses wrapped in brown paper.

He looked like the romantic lead in a cinema masterpiece, except I knew I was living in a horror story.

"You look thin," he said.

He stepped inside without asking, claiming the space as he always did. He looked around the tiny room, his nose wrinkling slightly at the stale air.

"Alexia, this is ridiculous. Come home."

"I am home," I said. I didn't take the flowers. He put them on the wobbly table where they looked absurdly out of place.

He sighed, running a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets flying. "Look, I know you're upset about the necklace. I'll get it fixed. I'll buy you a new one. Diamond. Whatever you want."

"It's not about the necklace, Jacob."

He moved closer. He smelled of rain and the expensive sandalwood cologne I used to buy for him. He reached out and touched my cheek. His fingers were warm.

For a second, my body betrayed me. Muscle memory took over; I remembered how safe I used to feel in his arms. I remembered the nights we stood on the balcony, planning a future that never happened. He was supposed to be my protector.

Or so I thought.

"I have a project for you," he said softly, his voice shifting from lover to executive. "The new AI music division. I want you to run it. You'll have your own studio. Independent budget. It's what you always wanted."

I stepped back, breaking the spell.

"I wanted a studio so I could write music for my mother's memorial. You told me we didn't have space in the mansion. Then you built a home gym for Cassandra."

Jacob flinched. "That was different. She needed rehab for her injury."

"My hand needed rehab too," I said, flexing the stiff fingers of my right hand.

"We're getting off track," he said, his voice hardening slightly. "I'm offering you a career. Don't be stubborn. You can't live like this. You need me."

I looked at the white roses. They were already wilting in the stifling heat of the apartment.

"I accepted the job in Vienna because I don't need you," I said, my voice steady. "I needed a husband. You were never that."

His phone rang. The shrill tone cut through the tension like a knife.

He glanced at the screen. His face went pale.

"It's Cassandra," he said. "She... she's crying. She says she can't breathe."

He looked at me. Then he looked at the door.

"Go," I said.

"I have to," he said, already backing away. "She has panic attacks. Since the accident. I'll come back tomorrow. We'll talk."

"Don't bother," I said.

He was already gone. I heard his car engine roar to life and fade into the rain.

I picked up the white roses. I walked to the window and threw the sash open.

I dropped them into the mud below.

"You chose her," I whispered to the empty, rain-slicked street. "You always choose her."