Chapter 6

In the week that I lay in that hospital bed, Connor never came. He never called. My assistant, Sarah, brought me a tablet every day, a curated feed of my own personal hell: photos of Connor and Gemma at a charity gala, his arm possessively around her waist; candid shots of them leaving a five-star restaurant, laughing. The world saw them as a couple. The world had already forgotten me.

I looked at the photos, at his smiling face, and felt nothing. The love, the pain, the heartbreak... it had all been burned away, leaving only a cold, hard resolve.

On the fifth day, I called my lawyer, Robert.

"It's time," I said, my voice steady.

"Haven? Are you sure?" he asked, his voice full of a caution I didn't need.

"I'm sure," I said. "Execute the papers."

He was quiet for a moment. "And your shares in Apex?"

"Sell them," I said without hesitation. "All of them. Find a buyer who will make his life a living hell."

"Haven, that's your life's work... it's half the company..."

"It's not my company anymore," I said, cutting him off. "It's his problem now."

When I was discharged, I didn't go to a hotel. I went back to the house. I needed to do one last thing.

I walked through the silent rooms, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Every object held a memory, a ghost of a life that was no longer mine. The vase we bought in Italy. The painting he gave me for our fifth anniversary. Our wedding photo on the mantelpiece.

I was staring at our smiling faces in the silver frame when the front door opened. Connor walked in, Gemma clinging to his arm. She was wearing a new dress, a diamond necklace glittering at her throat.

She saw me and smirked, a look of pure triumph on her face.

Connor looked uncomfortable. He was holding a small, elegantly wrapped box. "Haven. I... I got you something. A peace offering."

He held it out to me. I just stared at him.

"I know things have been difficult," he said, his voice low. "But I promise, I'll make it up to you. Gemma will be compensated for her troubles, and then she'll leave. You'll always be my wife. Nothing will change that."

As if on cue, Gemma let out a small cry. "Oh! My ankle!"

She stumbled, her hand flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture.

Connor was at her side in an instant. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

He fussed over her, his face a mask of concern, completely forgetting my existence. It was the same act, over and over again.

He helped her to the couch, his back to me. I could hear their whispers.

"She's so cruel, Connor," Gemma whimpered. "I'm scared of what she'll do next. You have to protect me."

"I will," he promised, his voice a low murmur. "I won't let her hurt you. I swear it."

That was it. The final, pathetic scene in this tragic play.

My love for him was a corpse, and he was still trying to pretend it was breathing.

I turned and walked away, my mind clear and my purpose set.