Chapter 6

I was discharged the next day. Jackson didn't come. He sent his driver.

He called that evening.

"Ellie, I' m sorry, I have to stay with Leo. I won' t be home for dinner."

Another broken promise. I wasn' t even surprised.

I walked into the living room. On the coffee table was a leather-bound folder. Inside was a single document: "Separation Agreement." His lawyers were efficient.

I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"It' s fine, Jackson," I said into the phone, my voice devoid of emotion. "I understand."

After I hung up, I made two calls. The first was to my lawyer.

"I need you to draw up divorce papers," I said, my voice steady. "No, not a separation. A divorce. I want everything I' m entitled to."

The second call was to the mysterious number from Los Angeles. This time, a man' s voice answered. Devan. My brother.

I told him everything.

A few days later, Karly came to the house. The housekeeper told me she was at the door, and for a moment, I considered telling her to go away. But I was tired of running.

I met her in the foyer. She immediately sank to her knees, a gesture of performative humility that made my stomach turn.

"Eleanor, please," she began, her voice trembling.

"Get up," I said, my voice cold. "Just say what you came to say."

She looked up, a flash of irritation in her eyes before she masked it with more tears. "I know our presence has made you unhappy. But please, don' t blame Leo. He' s just a child. And please, don' t tell him... about Vegas. Let him believe his parents were in love."

She was asking me to help build a fantasy for her and Jackson, on the ruins of my own life.

"I won' t interfere with your relationship with Jackson," she promised. "This is all for Leo."

The absurdity of it all was overwhelming.

"You want my blessing to marry my husband?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don' t worry, Karly. You can have him. The position of Mrs. Watkins is all yours."

I turned and walked away, leaving her kneeling on the marble floor.

Jackson rushed home later that night, clearly panicked that Karly had come to see me.

"What did she say to you?" he demanded, his eyes searching mine.

I could see the guilt, the fear that I would discover his night with her. The lie was still there, sitting between us.

"She came to thank me for agreeing to the divorce," I said flatly.

He pulled me into his arms, a wave of relief washing over his face. "It' s not a divorce, Ellie, it' s just temporary. I love you. Only you."

He was still lying. Still trying to manage me, to keep his perfect life in a neat little box.

He pulled away, his expression shifting. "Leo is doing better. He wants to go pick out flowers for the... ceremony. I told him I' d take him. I won' t be home tonight."

So, while he was asking me for a fake divorce, he was actively planning a wedding. My wedding ring felt like a brand on my finger.

That night, I signed the real divorce papers my lawyer had drawn up. I booked a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. And I packed a small box. A wedding gift for my husband.

The day of the ceremony arrived. It was a small affair, held in the hospital' s private garden. All for Leo.

Karly was radiant in a white dress, a smug, triumphant smile on her face. She held Jackson' s arm, already playing the part of the billionaire' s wife. Leo, in a tiny tuxedo, looked happy, if a little pale.

My lawyer walked in just as they were about to exchange rings.

"A gift," he said, his voice calm and professional, "from Eleanor."

He handed a beautifully wrapped box to Jackson.

Jackson took it, a small, confident smile on his face. He probably thought it was some sentimental token, a sign of my forgiveness.

He opened it.

Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, were the divorce papers. My signature was clear and firm at the bottom.

"This is a joke," Jackson said, his voice shaking.

"I assure you, it' s not," my lawyer replied. "Mrs. Watkins-soon to be Ms. Bernard-instructed me to file it this morning. It' s quite legal."

Jackson' s face went white. He frantically flipped through the documents, his hands trembling.

And then he saw it.

Tucked between the pages was another document. The hospital report.

The one that detailed my miscarriage.