Chapter 2

Alondra threw off the duvet. Her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

She ran to the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the walk-in closet.

The woman staring back at her was twenty-four. Her skin was flawless. There were no bruises, no cuts, no blood.

She pinched the soft skin of her forearm. Hard.

A sharp sting radiated up her arm. It wasn't a dream. The pain was real. The air in her lungs was real.

A loud bang echoed through the room.

The heavy bedroom door was shoved open, hitting the wall behind it.

Gerard stood in the doorway. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes held that same familiar, freezing disgust.

He tugged at his tie, a gesture he always made when she annoyed him.

"Why the hell did you call Cecil last night?" Gerard demanded. His voice was a low growl. "Are you out of your mind?"

Hearing that name sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Alondra's veins. The memory of the crushed Porsche and his cold stare through the Maybach window flashed in her mind.

She didn't cry. She didn't beg.

She just stared at him. Her face was completely devoid of emotion.

Gerard frowned. His brow furrowed slightly. He stepped further into the room. This wasn't her usual reaction. He expected tears. He expected a hysterical apology.

"If you ever harass her again," Gerard warned, pointing a finger at her, "I will end this marriage immediately."

Alondra's lips twitched. A short, dry laugh escaped her throat.

"I agree," Alondra said. Her voice was steady and clear. "Let's divorce."

Gerard froze. His hand dropped to his side. He stared at her, waiting for the punchline.

When she didn't take it back, a sneer curled his upper lip.

"Is this your new game?" Gerard scoffed. "You think threatening me will get my attention? Fine. Play your little game. Get the hell out of my apartment."

Alondra turned her back on him.

She walked over to the top shelf of the closet and yanked down a black leather suitcase. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

She unzipped it. She grabbed a handful of her basic t-shirts, jeans, and a few business suits. She tossed them inside.

She walked right past the velvet display cases holding the diamond necklaces Gerard had bought her. She ignored the row of custom haute couture dresses.

Gerard watched her fluid, efficient movements. The sneer on his face slowly stiffened.

"You won't last a day outside without the Arnold name," Gerard mocked. His voice was louder now.

Alondra grabbed the zipper and pulled it shut. The sharp metallic sound cut off his words.

She grabbed the handle, popped it up, and walked over to him. She looked at him the way one looks at a dead rat on the sidewalk.

"My lawyer will contact you on Monday," Alondra said.

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and headed straight for the living room.

Arthur, the head butler, was standing by the marble kitchen island, arranging white lilies in a vase. He dropped a stem when he saw her dragging the suitcase.

"Mrs. Arnold?" Arthur stammered. "Are you leaving? Should I call the driver?"

Alondra stopped. She offered the old man a polite smile.

"Goodbye, Arthur," she said. "And please, don't call me Mrs. Arnold anymore."

Gerard stormed out of the bedroom. He stood at the end of the hallway, his face flushed dark red.

"If you walk out that door, you are never coming back!" Gerard roared. His fists were clenched at his sides.

Alondra didn't even break her stride.

She reached the heavy oak front door, pulled the handle, and stepped out into the private elevator lobby.

She let the door slam shut behind her. The massive boom echoed in the hallway, cutting off Gerard's voice completely.