Chapter 4

Aurelia POV:

"What the hell was that, Aurelia?!" Chandler's voice roared through the phone, thick with rage. "Getting engaged? To whom? Are you trying to ruin me?"

I held the phone away from my ear, wincing. His predictable fury. It used to make my stomach clench with fear. Now, it just sounded... pathetic.

"Don't play dumb with me," he snarled. "You know you can't live without me. You'll come crawling back. You always do."

I remained silent, letting his words hang in the air, hollow and self-important. I heard a soft, simpering voice in the background. Britni.

"Chandler, darling, calm down," she cooed, her voice annoyingly close to the phone. "Aurelia's just a little upset, that's all. She'll understand."

His tone immediately softened. "It's okay, Britni. I'll handle it. Don't worry your pretty little head." Then, back to me, his voice hardened again. "See? This is what you do, Aurelia. You upset everyone. Britni is fragile. You need to stop this childish game."

"I'll publicly clarify everything," he continued, a false note of reassurance in his voice. "Just give me time. I'll make sure everyone knows you were just... confused. Now, stop being dramatic. Stay at the house. I'll be home later. I'll even pick up that fancy artisanal ice cream you like."

Ice cream. He thought ice cream would fix this. It was always the small, insignificant gestures he used to mask the monumental betrayals.

My mind drifted back. He hadn't always been like this. Not entirely. I remembered the day he first told me about joining the military. He' d been scouted, a rare talent. I'd been terrified, begging him not to go. He was meant to be a scientist, a brilliant mind, not a soldier.

"This is my path now, Aurelia," he'd said, his eyes distant, already dreaming of glory. "This is how I make a difference. And how I make a name for myself. For us."

He'd even claimed he switched from his science track to military service for me, to provide a "more stable" future. I had believed him. He immersed himself in training, his calls becoming less frequent, his words more clipped.

Then came the first whispers. A junior officer, a woman, his face plastered on a gossip blog, "Roberson caught with mysterious blonde." He' d flown across the country, unannounced, to apologize.

"It was nothing, Aurelia," he'd insisted, his eyes earnest, his touch gentle. "Just a harmless flirtation. She was trying to get ahead. You know how ambitious some people are."

"Then let's make it official," I'd pleaded, tears in my eyes. "Let's tell everyone we're married. End all this speculation."

His face had clouded. "No, Aurelia. Not yet. It's not the right time for my career. It could be seen as a distraction. Please, just trust me. You're the only one for me. My wife. Always."

And I, foolishly, had agreed. Again. Always for him.

Now, Britni. Fresh out of college, eager, ambitious. He'd "rescued" her from a minor scandal involving a campaign donation. She'd latched onto him, playing the damsel, the wide-eyed ingénue. Soon after, the stories started popping up again, his name linked to hers, a "charming rising star and his brilliant young protégé." He said nothing. He just let the rumors swirl, painting me as the ghost wife, the one he barely acknowledged.

The line went dead. He' d hung up. Just like that.

I took a deep breath, the icy calm returning. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He thought I'd be waiting for him, eager for his ice cream and his empty promises.

He was wrong.

I pulled up the contact for the administrative department. "I need to speak to someone about filing divorce papers," I said, my voice steady. "Preferably before I leave the country."

The silence on the other end was brief. "Certainly, Ms. Reese. I'll put you in touch with our legal liaison."

My plan was set. Geneva. A new life. And a very public, very final end to Chandler Roberson.

That night, the doorbell rang. I stiffened, my heart hammering a dangerous rhythm against my ribs. He was here. And he wasn't alone.