Ninety Days To Break Your Heart

2:15 A.M.

The red digits on the digital clock were the only light in the master bedroom, burning like accusing eyes in the darkness.

The baby monitor crackled. A sharp, rhythmic cry pierced the silence of the penthouse. It was Leo.

Mia Wallace jolted awake. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a violent bird trapped in a cage. Her hand instinctively swept across the expanse of the California King bed beside her.

Silk. Cold, undisturbed silk.

The disappointment was a physical blow, a heavy stone dropping into her stomach. She swallowed the bitter taste of it, pushing back the duvet. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet as she navigated the shadows toward the nursery.

Inside, the warm yellow glow of the nightlight cast long shadows against the hand-painted mural of a forest. Mia glanced anxiously at the second crib. Thankfully, Maya was still sound asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm, undisturbed by her brother's distress.

Mia lifted Leo from the crib. He was hot, his face scrunching up in distress. She rocked him, humming a low, shapeless tune until his cries subsided into wet, hiccuping breaths.

Then she heard it.

The ding of the private elevator down the hall.

Mia went rigid. Her arms tightened around the baby, a protective instinct she couldn't control.

Heavy footsteps approached. They were uneven, lacking their usual confident cadence. The master bedroom door creaked open.

Mia stood in the doorway of the nursery, shielded by the semi-darkness, watching.

William Sterling stood silhouetted against the hallway light. He loosened his tie with a jerky, frustrated motion, pulling it free and tossing it onto the armchair. He looked wrecked. His hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot.

But it was the smell that hit her first.

It drifted across the room, an invisible, choking fog emanating from his clothes before he had even stepped fully inside. The sharp, peat-smoke scent of expensive Scotch. And beneath it, clinging to his bespoke suit jacket like a second skin, was the cloying, powdery sweetness of Midnight Rose.

Lucinda.

Mia's stomach twisted violently. She felt bile rise in her throat.

William turned, his gaze snagging on her figure in the nursery doorway. There was no warmth in his eyes. No guilt. Only a flicker of annoyance, as if her presence was a smudge on a perfectly polished glass.

"Let the nanny handle it if you're tired," he said. His voice was rough, like gravel grinding together.

"Mrs. Higgins has the flu, and the agency couldn't send a replacement until morning," Mia whispered, though she didn't know why she was whispering. Maybe she didn't want to wake the reality of their marriage. "I didn't want a stranger handling them in the middle of the night anyway."

William let out a short, derisive huff. He turned his back to her, heading for the bathroom.

"The perfect mother performance," he muttered, loud enough for her to hear. "Don't wait up for applause."

The bathroom door clicked shut. The shower started running, a loud hiss of water meant to wash away the night. To wash away her scent.

Mia placed a sleeping Leo back into his crib, tucking the blanket around him with lingering fingers. Her hands were trembling so badly she had to grip the railing to steady herself.

She walked back into the master bedroom. William's phone sat on the nightstand where he'd carelessly discarded it. The screen lit up, illuminating the dark room with a ghostly blue light.

Mia walked over to the nightstand to grab the glass of water she kept there. As she reached for the carafe, her eyes fell on the illuminated screen.

A single notification.

Sender: L

Message: Thank you for tonight, William. I don't know what I would do without you.

Mia stared at the words. She didn't blink. She felt her blood turning to slush, slowing down, freezing in her veins.

The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of cedar soap-his scent. William walked out with a towel wrapped low around his hips. Water droplets clung to his chest hair.

He saw her standing by the bed, staring at the phone. He didn't flinch. He walked over, picked up the device, and flipped it face down.

"Don't look at me like a martyr, Mia," he said, climbing into the empty side of the bed.

"Your jacket... it smells like her," she said, gesturing to the pile of clothes on the armchair. Her voice was flat. Dead.

William paused, his hand on the lamp switch. "I was comforting a friend who was having a breakdown. Not that your transactional little mind would understand compassion."

"Compassion," Mia repeated. The word tasted like ash.

"Go to sleep."

He clicked off the light. The room plunged into darkness. He rolled onto his side, putting his back to her. A wall of muscle and indifference.

Mia lay down on her edge of the mattress. The distance between them was only a few inches, but it felt like an ocean. She stared at the ceiling, her fingernails digging into her palms until she felt the sharp sting of skin breaking.

She didn't cry. She was done crying. In the suffocating silence of the room, listening to her husband's breathing even out, something inside her finally snapped. It wasn't a loud break. It was quiet, like a thread finally giving way under too much weight.

---

William walked in. He was impeccable in a charcoal three-piece suit, the chaos of the previous night erased by a razor and expensive grooming products. A maid immediately placed a black coffee and the Wall Street Journal in front of him.

He sat. He snapped the paper open. He disappeared behind it.

"Ba-ba!" Leo squealed, banging a plastic spoon against his high chair.

William's brow furrowed above the paper. He didn't look up, but the tension in his shoulders screamed irritation.

Mia signaled the relief nanny from the agency, who had just arrived to take over for the sick Mrs. Higgins. "Please take them to the playroom."

The nanny whisked the children away. The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the scrape of William's knife against his toast.

"About the charity gala next week," Mia started. Her voice felt rusty.

"You don't need to go," William said. He turned a page. The paper rustled loudly.

Mia paused, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth. "It's the Sterling Family Foundation. As your wife-"

"As my wife, your job is to raise the heirs you were so desperate to provide." His tone was bored. Clinical.

"Is Lucinda going?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

William lowered the paper. His eyes were cold, hard flint. "That is irrelevant."

"She's going," Mia stated. "And you don't want me there ruining the picture."

"She is a trustee," William said, his voice dropping an octave. "You are a liability. You don't know how to handle the board, Mia. You freeze up. It's embarrassing."

"I freeze up because you let them humiliate me," she shot back.

William folded the paper neatly and set it down. He clasped his hands, leaning forward. "Let's not rewrite history. You signed a contract. You secured a trust fund. You got exactly what you wanted. Stop pretending you care about my social calendar."

"I have never touched a cent of that money," Mia said, her voice shaking with suppressed rage.

"A strategic move to maintain the 'innocent girl' facade," William countered smoothly. He checked his Rolex. "I won't be home for dinner."

He stood up, buttoning his jacket.

"William, we need to talk," Mia said. She stood up, too.

He didn't stop walking toward the foyer. "I'm busy."

"Busier than your marriage?"

He spun around at the door, his expression incredulous. "Marriage? This is a merger, Mia. A merger you forced by getting pregnant to manipulate my grandfather's will."

"I didn't plan it!"

"Save it," he said, opening the heavy oak door. "I'm tired of the act."

The door slammed shut. The vibration rattled the crystal vase on the console table.

Mia sank back into her chair. She felt hollowed out. Scraped empty.

Her eyes drifted to the painting on the far wall. Behind it was a wall safe.

She stood up. Her legs felt heavy, but she forced them to move. She walked to the study, moved the painting, and punched in the code. Arthur had given it to her months ago, instructing her to keep her passport there 'just in case,' a warning she had foolishly ignored until now.

Inside lay a single blue folder.

She pulled it out. Her fingers traced the edge of the document. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

She had printed it weeks ago. She had hesitated. She had hoped.

But the man who just walked out that door wasn't a husband. He was a landlord of her misery.

She carried the folder to the coffee table in the living room and set it down. It looked innocuous. Just paper. But it was a bomb, and she was finally ready to light the fuse.

---

He brought the smell of rain and stale whiskey with him. He kicked off his shoes, his movements loose, uncoordinated. He saw Mia sitting in the armchair, the blue folder on the coffee table between them.

"Waiting up for me?" He slurred slightly, walking to the bar cart. "How devoted."

"Sign this," Mia said.

William paused, decanter in hand. He looked at the folder, then at her. He smirked. "What now? A request for a vacation home? A pony for the twins?"

He walked over, picked up the folder, and flipped it open.

His eyes scanned the first page. The smirk vanished. His face went slack, then hardened into a mask of fury.

"Divorce?" He looked at her, his eyes dark and dangerous. "Is this a joke?"

"I'm serious, William." Mia stood her ground, though her knees were shaking. "No alimony. No fight for the shares. Just the children and my freedom."

"No money?" He threw the folder onto the table. It slid across the surface and fell to the floor. "You think you can play hard to get? You think threatening to leave will make me up the offer?"

He stepped closer. He towered over her, sucking the air out of the room.

"I don't want your money," Mia said quietly. "I want out."

"You don't get to walk away!" William roared. He grabbed her upper arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You trapped me! You used those kids to get into this family, and now you think you can just take them and leave?"

"I am taking them because you are unfit to be a father!"

The air in the room seemed to snap.

William's eyes went black. "Unfit?"

He yanked her toward him. The smell of alcohol was overpowering. "I'll show you who's in control here."

He crushed his mouth against hers. It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault. A punishment. His teeth scraped against her lip, harsh and demanding.

Mia struggled, pushing against his chest. "William, stop!"

He didn't stop. He backed her into the sofa, his weight pinning her down. The lamp on the side table crashed to the floor, plunging them into semi-darkness.

"You're my wife," he growled against her neck, his hand tearing at the collar of her blouse. Buttons popped, scattering onto the floor like hail. "Fulfill your duty."

Mia froze.

The sheer degradation of it washed over her like ice water. He wasn't making love to her. He was marking his territory. He was hating her with his body.

But as his hand gripped her shoulder, he looked down. He saw the utter lack of resistance. He saw her eyes-wide, vacant, staring past him at the ceiling as if she were already gone.

His movement faltered. The drunken rage that had been driving him suddenly hit a wall of cold reality.

She stopped fighting. Her arms fell to her sides. She turned her head to the side, staring at the rain lashing against the glass. She went somewhere else. Somewhere far away where she couldn't feel his hands, couldn't smell the whiskey, couldn't feel her heart breaking into a million irreparable pieces.

---