Chapter 2

Blake's face twisted with rage when he saw the broken prayer beads. He tightened his grip on her wrist, his voice low and dangerous. "You..."

But Chloe just looked at him with empty eyes. She didn't feel the need to fight back, not anymore. She simply gathered the last few beads that hadn't rolled away, her movements slow and deliberate. She held the broken pieces in her palm, a final remnant of her foolish love.

"I'm tired, Blake," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm going home."

She pulled her wrist from his grasp. This time, he let her go, his eyes watching her with a strange, unreadable expression.

Chloe walked off the yacht, ignoring the shocked whispers of the crowd. She made her way back to the Harrison estate, a place she had once called home but had only ever felt like a cold, beautiful prison. The house was dark and silent, a stark contrast to the loud party she had just left. The air inside was stale, filled with the scent of neglect. It was a house full of expensive things, but no warmth.

She walked up the grand staircase to her room, a room she had decorated herself, trying to make it a sanctuary. It had been her cage for three years. In the corner of the room, on a small table, sat a holographic projector. It was an old, clunky device she had found in a storage room. In her loneliest moments, she would turn it on. It projected a life-sized image of Blake, programmed to say a few simple, comforting words she had recorded from his public speeches. She used to talk to it, pretending he was there, pretending he cared. It was a pathetic comfort, but it was all she had.

She picked up the projector, feeling its weight in her hands. This device was a symbol of her desperate, one-sided obsession. She was going to destroy it, just like she had destroyed the prayer beads.

As she raised it, ready to smash it against the floor, the door to her room burst open.

Blake stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. He had followed her home. His eyes landed on the projector in her hands. A cruel smirk spread across his lips.

"So this is what you do when you're alone?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You play with a doll of me to satisfy your loneliness? How pathetic can you get, Chloe?"

The words were meant to hurt, to humiliate her, just as they always had. But this time, Chloe felt nothing. The pain was a distant echo.

She remembered her past so clearly now. She had once been a wild, carefree girl, known for her fiery spirit. Then she met Blake. She had fallen for him so completely that she had tried to change everything about herself. She learned the quiet arts he admired, read the books he liked, and wore the clothes he found acceptable. She had tried to mold herself into the perfect wife for him.

She remembered the day she found out he was engaged to Amelia. The news had shattered her. But then, through a series of events she never fully understood, she had ended up marrying him instead. It was a scandal, a public humiliation for Amelia, and Blake had never forgiven her for it. He believed she had schemed her way into the marriage, stealing the place that rightfully belonged to her sister. His hatred for her had started on their wedding day and had only grown colder over the three years.

He saw the projector as just another one of her pathetic attempts to hold onto him.

"Give me that," he commanded, striding into the room.

Before she could react, he snatched the projector from her hands and threw it to the ground with all his force. It shattered into a hundred pieces, the delicate electronics spilling out onto the carpet.

"Our marriage has been a torture for me," he said, his voice low and intense. "Every day with you is a living hell. Don't you ever forget that."

Chloe didn't look at him. She knelt down and began to slowly gather the broken pieces of the projector. The sharp edges of the plastic didn't seem to bother her. She felt an odd sense of release, a quiet emptiness where the pain used to be.

She placed the broken projector pieces into a small box, right next to the shattered prayer beads. Two symbols of her broken heart, her wasted love. Now, they were just junk. She finally felt a sense of freedom, a quiet peace that settled deep in her soul. She was finally letting go.