Chapter 2

Audrey's POV:

The small apartment a few towns over felt like a sanctuary, a quiet haven after the storm. It was sparse, rented under a new name, a stark contrast to the sprawling mansion Donovan and I once shared. But it was mine. And for the first time in months, I felt a flicker of peace. Yet, a final act remained. A farewell.

I drove back to the mansion, the familiar gates looming like the entrance to a forgotten empire. The grand facade, the manicured lawns-they all mocked me now, monuments to a stolen life. The house was empty, as Donovan was away on "business," a convenient excuse for his frequent absences. This was my chance.

Inside, the silence was deafening, amplifying the echoes of what once was, or what I thought once was. The polished marble floors, the crystal chandeliers, the vast, empty rooms felt more like a mausoleum than a home. I walked through the kitchen, the heart of my professional life, where countless recipes had been born, where I had poured my creative soul.

Tonight, I would cook one last meal in this house. Not for him, but for myself. A ritual of severance. I pulled out a fresh salmon, crisp vegetables, and fragrant herbs. My hands moved with a practiced grace, the familiar rhythm of chopping and sautéing a small comfort amidst the chaos of my emotions. The aroma filled the kitchen, a bittersweet perfume of my past.

I set the table for two, a final mocking gesture, a last hope for a confrontation that would bring clarity, perhaps even closure. I knew it was foolish, a naive yearning for an honorable ending to a dishonorable story. But a part of me, the old, trusting Audrey, still clung to the illusion of the man I thought I married.

Hours passed. The food grew cold. The candles burned down, their flames flickering like dying hopes. He never came. Not a call, not a text. Just the gaping void of absence, a familiar companion in our marriage, now amplified to an unbearable degree. He didn't care enough for even a final confrontation. The realization hit me with a dull thud.

Then, the roar of his sports car in the driveway. He was here. Finally. My breath hitched in my throat. I stood by the window, watching him swagger from his car. His jacket was askew, his hair tousled, a faint lipstick smudge on his collar. Not mine. He entered the house, his steps heavy and impatient.

My eyes fell on the hallway table. His watch, his keys, his phone... all there. But the small, silver locket I had given him on our first anniversary, the one he swore he never took off, was gone. It had held a tiny, faded picture of us, laughing. Now, its absence screamed louder than any accusation. It was a final confirmation, a brutal stamp on the truth.

He walked into the dining room, his gaze sweeping over the elaborate, cold meal, then settling on me. His eyes held not curiosity, but annoyance. "What is this, Audrey?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain. "Some kind of dramatic gesture? I've had a long day."

"It's dinner, Donovan," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Our last supper, perhaps."

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Don't be ridiculous. You're still upset about that file, aren't you? I told you, it was nothing. Just some outdated preliminary drafts."

I pulled the signed separation papers, Mr. Harrison' s distinctive letterhead visible, from my pocket. I placed them gently on the pristine white tablecloth, next to the untouched salmon. "These aren't drafts, Donovan. These are my divorce papers. Signed."

His eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock momentarily replacing his arrogance. He picked up the document, his brow furrowing as he read. "You... you signed these? Without telling me?" His voice was incredulous, as if I had committed the ultimate transgression.

"What was there to tell?" I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "That I finally saw through your charade? That I understood I was nothing more than a convenient accessory, a surrogate for your true love, and the unwitting architect of my own downfall?"

He slammed the papers back onto the table. "Surrogate? What in God's name are you talking about? There's no surrogate! And Jazmine? She's our business partner, your best friend!" His voice rose, a desperate attempt to regain control of the narrative.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Donovan," I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I know about Jazmine's infertility. I know about your plans to have her raise my child as her own. I know you saw me as a biological vessel, nothing more. I was there, Donovan, when she cried on my shoulder about her inability to carry a child. I helped her through it. And all this time, you two were plotting to use me."

He stared at me, his face pale. "Audrey, that' s insane. You' re imagining things. Hormonal delusions."

"Are they delusions, Donovan?" I pressed, my voice gaining strength. "Or is it just a painful echo of the truth you've so carefully hidden? Just like you hid the true nature of our pre-nup, ensuring I'd be left with nothing after I built your empire. Just like you took all my recipes, my concepts, my intellectual property, and transferred them to Jazmine's name in that revised agreement."

He lunged for the separation papers, tearing them to shreds. "You're not leaving me! Not now! Not ever! I will not allow it!" The flimsy paper fragments fluttered to the floor like dying butterflies.

"It's already done, Donovan," I said, a chilling calm settling over me. "The legal process has begun. You can tear up the paper, but you can't erase the truth. You can't erase my decision."

He stared at me, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light. "You think you can just walk away? From this? From me? You' ll be ruined, Audrey. Financially, professionally. I'll make sure of it." He reached into his wallet, pulling out a wad of cash. "Here. Take this. Is this what you want? A settlement? Silence?" He threw the money at my feet. It scattered across the polished floor, a grotesque symbol of his contempt.

My gaze flickered from the scattered bills to his face, a mask of arrogance and desperation. "Keep your dirty money, Donovan," I said, my voice a low growl. "Your wealth is as hollow as your promises. I want nothing from you. Nothing but my freedom, and my child's safety."

I took a deep breath, the air thick with unspoken words, with years of deceit. "This is over. I am leaving. And you will never see me again."

I walked to the front door, my hand on the cold brass knob. "Don't try to find me, Donovan," I warned, turning back one last time. "Because if you do, I will fight you with everything I have. And you will lose."

Then, I opened the door and stepped out, the cool night air a welcome embrace. As I walked down the driveway, I heard a crash from inside the house, the sound of breaking glass, then a guttural roar of sheer fury. He was destroying things, breaking down. But I was already gone. My hand instinctively went to my belly, a silent vow. This child, my child, would know only love, not the darkness of their world.