Chapter 3 No.3

Morning sunlight flooded the penthouse, harsh and unforgiving. It highlighted the dust motes dancing in the air and the smudge on the glass coffee table.

Felicity sat on the white sofa. She was already dressed. She wore a sharp navy suit, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her makeup was flawless, a mask of composure.

Garold walked into the living room, buttoning his cuff. He paused when he saw her. He blinked, clearly surprised to see her up, dressed, and sitting there instead of bustling around the kitchen making his espresso.

"You're up early," he muttered, walking toward the kitchen. He expected coffee.

"Sit down, Garold," Felicity said.

He stopped. He turned to look at her, a frown creasing his forehead. "Excuse me?"

She pushed a blue folder across the glass table. It slid smoothly, stopping right at the edge near him.

Garold sighed, the sound of a man indulging a child. He walked over and picked it up. "What is this? Another bill from the club? Or did you crash the car again?"

"It's a divorce agreement," Felicity said. Her voice was calm. Unwavering.

Garold froze. His fingers tightened on the folder. He let out a scoff, a sound of pure disbelief. He tossed the folder back onto the table without opening it.

"Don't be dramatic, Felicity. If you want a higher allowance, just ask. You don't need to play these games."

Felicity stood up. She met his gaze. She didn't flinch.

"I don't want your money, Garold. I want my freedom."

Garold stepped closer. He was tall, over six feet, and he used his height now, looming over her. It was a tactic that usually worked. Usually, she would shrink back.

"You have obligations," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "The contract. My family. You don't just walk away because you're feeling neglected."

Felicity smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a cold curve of her lips that didn't reach her eyes.

"I'm doing you a favor. Go be a father to Jenilee's child. I'm sure she needs you more than I do."

Garold's face darkened. "I told you to stop listening to gossip."

"And I'm telling you I'm done listening to you." She took a step toward him, invading his personal space. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Although, I am surprised she's pregnant. Considering your... performance issues."

Garold's face turned a violent shade of red. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"What did you say?" he growled.

Felicity shrugged, checking her manicured nails. "I mean, three minutes isn't exactly a marathon, darling. Maybe Jenilee inspires you more than I did. Or maybe she just fakes it better."

Garold slammed his hand down on the glass table. The vase of lilies rattled. "You watch your mouth."

He was furious. His masculinity, usually so unassailable, had been pricked. He looked like he wanted to grab her, to shake her.

Before he could move, a phone rang. It was loud, shrill, cutting through the tension. It was his phone, sitting on the kitchen counter.

The screen lit up. Jenilee.

Garold looked at the phone, then back at Felicity. The anger in his eyes warred with something else-panic, maybe? Or duty.

Felicity gestured toward the counter. "Better answer that. Mommy needs you."

Garold pointed a finger at her. "We are not done."

He turned and grabbed the phone, answering it with a harsh, "What?"