Chapter 2 2

The yellow cab smelled of stale coffee and cheap air freshener.

Gemma collapsed against the cracked leather backseat. She rolled the window down, letting the freezing morning wind slap against her face.

Her hands shook violently as she dug her phone out of her clutch.

The screen lit up. Fifteen missed calls from Armida.

She pressed the call back button. The phone barely rang once before Armida picked up.

"Gemma! Where the hell are you?"

"Armida," Gemma choked out, her throat burning. "Where did you find that person? He's just... I don't even know how to describe him."

The line went dead silent for three agonizing seconds.

"Gemma," Armida said, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "I ordered the guy, but you never showed up at the hotel room I booked. I waited for you all night."

A loud ringing sound exploded in Gemma's ears.

Her phone slipped from her sweaty palm, landing on the floorboard.

She had spent the night unconscious in a stranger's suite.

Panic wrapped around her lungs like thick vines, squeezing the oxygen out of her. She ended the call and yelled at the driver to step on the gas.

The cab screeched to a halt outside her luxury apartment building near Central Park.

Gemma pulled her torn coat tightly around her body and sprinted through the grand lobby.

She took the private elevator straight to the penthouse.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the heavy oak door open.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room was her husband, Joseph.

He wore a custom-tailored suit. He turned around, and there was zero concern in his eyes for his wife who had been missing all night.

Only cold, hard annoyance.

Gemma instinctively pulled her coat collar higher, a desperate attempt to hide herself, to shrink away from the world that now felt tainted and hostile.

Joseph took two steps toward her.

The sickening, sweet smell of a cheap floral perfume hit Gemma's nose.

Her eyes darted to his collar. A faint smudge of crimson lipstick was visible on the crisp white fabric.

The absurdity of the past two years crystallized in that single second. A two-year-long farce had finally reached its curtain call.

Gemma stopped shaking. A cold, hollow laugh escaped her lips.

Joseph's face hardened. He snatched a thick manila envelope from the glass coffee table and threw it down hard.

The papers slid out. The bold black letters at the top read: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

"Kassandra can't hide anymore," Joseph said, lifting his chin arrogantly. "I have to give her a proper title."

Gemma stared at the papers.

She didn't feel a single ounce of heartbreak. Instead, a massive wave of pure relief washed over her chest.

She bent down and picked up the document, flipping straight to the asset division page.

"Don't make a scene," Joseph sneered, adjusting his tie. "I'll leave you the house in the suburbs. It's more than you deserve."

Gemma looked up. Her eyes were as dead and calm as a frozen lake.

She cut off his speech by picking up the Montblanc pen resting on the table.

She pulled the cap off.

Joseph froze. He blinked, clearly shocked that his usually submissive wife wasn't crying or begging him to stay.

Gemma flipped to the last page. Without a single second of hesitation, she signed her name in smooth, sharp strokes.

She picked up the heavy stack of papers and threw them directly at Joseph's chest.

The pages scattered across the hardwood floor.

Gemma pointed a trembling finger at the front door.

"Get out."

Joseph's face turned purple. His fragile male ego couldn't handle the absolute dismissal in her eyes.

He spun around and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

Gemma leaned back against the cold wall, sliding down until she hit the floor.

Cold sweat soaked her back.

Because of one night of absolute madness, she had just ended her two-year marriage without a second thought.