Chapter 3

"Am I insane?" I shot back, a wild, hysterical laugh bubbling up from my chest. The sound was ragged and ugly. "After eight years in this house, I'm surprised I'm not."

My laughter turned into a roar of pure rage. I grabbed the nearest vase-a ridiculously expensive piece Griselda had gifted us-and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

Then I went for Donte' s prized collection of architectural awards, the ones with his name engraved on them but my genius behind them. I swept them off the mantelpiece, their metallic clang on the hardwood floor a deeply satisfying sound of destruction.

Judd and Griselda scrambled back, their faces pale with fear. They had never seen me like this. They had only ever known the quiet, compliant, useful Kinsley.

"Kinsley, stop!" Bria cried out, rushing forward with a fake show of concern.

"Stay away from her!" Donte yelled, pulling Bria behind him. He looked at me with pure contempt. "She's just having a tantrum."

His words hit me harder than a physical blow. A tantrum. He dismissed my pain, my rage, my complete breakdown as a childish fit.

And just like that, the fire inside me went out, replaced by an icy calm. The madness receded, leaving only an empty, echoing silence in its wake.

"Clean this up," Donte ordered, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone. He truly believed that after this, I would meekly sweep up the pieces of our broken life and everything would go back to normal.

I didn't say a word. I just turned and walked silently toward the bedroom.

"Donte, maybe you should go with her," Bria suggested, her voice dripping with false sympathy. She knew he wouldn't. She was just playing her part.

"She's fine," Donte scoffed. "She does this for attention. She comes from a simple background, you see. She doesn't appreciate the finer things." His gaze followed my retreating back, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Let's go," Griselda said impatiently. "This evening is ruined. Let the help clean it up."

The three of them quickly gathered their things and headed for the door, leaving me alone in the wreckage.

As they were leaving, Judd paused and called out, his voice cold and hard. "Remember your place, Kinsley. You are a Boyd now. Your duty is to endure. Without us, you are nothing. Your entire career is because of this family."

I stood in the doorway of my bedroom and listened to the front door click shut. Nothing. He thought I was nothing without them. For eight years, I had poured every ounce of my talent, my energy, my life into that firm. I had sacrificed my own name for his. And they thought they had made me.

I looked at the mess in the dining room. It wasn't a home. It was a stage for a performance I was no longer willing to give.

The romantic illusion of love had long since died.

I walked to the fireplace, took down our wedding portrait, and threw it into the dying embers. I watched the smiling faces of our past selves curl and turn to ash. I then found the framed Boyd family crest that hung in the hall and smashed it on the floor.

I went into the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase. I packed only what was mine. My clothes, my personal books, and my original design portfolio-the one on a secure, encrypted hard drive.

Then, I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone. I sent a text message to the one person Donte feared and respected in the industry: his main competitor, Brock Solomon.

"Brock, it's Kinsley Cooper. I've left Donte. I need a place to stay, and I'm looking for a new job. I have my portfolio."

My phone buzzed almost instantly. A reply from Brock.

"It's about time. The guest suite at my penthouse is yours. I'm opening a bottle of champagne. Welcome to the winning team."

A picture followed: a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling in an ice bucket.

I smiled for the first time in what felt like years. Brock had been poaching me for years, telling me he knew I was the real talent behind the Boyd firm. I'd always refused out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.

My main motivation wasn't Brock, or the job, or the money. It was to prove to Donte, to his family, and to the world that they hadn't made me. They had only held me back.

I wanted to see the Boyd firm crumble without me. I wanted to watch them realize that the "nothing" they had so carelessly discarded was, in fact, everything.

Hours later, the Boyds returned, their laughter echoing in the foyer. They expected to find me, remorseful and cleaning.

Instead, they found the wreckage, now cold and silent.

"Kinsley!" Griselda shrieked, her voice filled with outrage. "Where is that woman?"

Donte saw the smashed family crest on the floor. Then he saw the ashes in the fireplace, the distinct shape of a picture frame still visible. His face turned pale. An unreadable emotion flashed in his eyes-not just anger, but something like fear.

"I think... I think she left because of me," Bria said, feigning innocence.

"It's not your fault, Bria," Donte said automatically, comforting her. "She's unstable."

He pulled out his phone and went into his study to call me.

"Kinsley, where the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl of ownership.