Chapter 9

One day, Yates brought Claire to live at the mansion.

"Yvette, everything that happened before is in the past. Claire still needs time to recover, and I'm not comfortable with her living somewhere else. From today on, she'll be staying here. I hope you can... learn to get along with her."

From that day forward, the home Yvette had once shared with Yates became a love nest for him and Claire.

Yvette had no choice but to listen to their uninhibited laughter and watch Yates shower Claire with affection. They kissed on the living room couch, made love on the dining room table, and even had sex in front of the piano Yvette used to play.

The servants kept their heads down and hurried past, not daring to look or listen.

Then, late one night, Yvette was awakened by hurried footsteps and frantic shouting.

Opening her bedroom door, she caught sight of Yates rushing down the stairs, his clothes disheveled and his face contorted with a panic she'd never seen before.

He was carrying Claire in his arms. Her clothes were just as disheveled, blood was streaming from between her legs, and she was moaning in agony. Looking almost frantic, Yates raced downstairs and out of the mansion.

A short while later, the housekeeper, Evelyn Whitmore, came upstairs, wearing a complicated expression.

"Mrs. Prescott, Mr. Prescott has ordered me to take you to the hospital."

Yvette asked no questions and silently followed her to the car.

It wasn't until they arrived at the hospital that she learned what had happened.

Yates and Claire had been having sex so roughly that Claire had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum. When she was rushed to the emergency room, the doctors discovered that she was also pregnant. She was hemorrhaging severely, and her condition was critical.

She urgently needed a large blood transfusion, but Claire had the rare Rh-negative blood type, and the hospital was running dangerously low.

Yvette happened to have Rh-negative blood, too.

Ignoring her refusal, Yates had his men take her straight to the blood donation room.

"Take her blood!" he shouted at the doctor. "Keep taking it until Claire is out of danger!"

The doctor hesitated.

"Mr. Prescott, Ms. Chandler is already extremely weak. If we take any more blood, she could..."

"I don't care if she dies!" Yates cut him off. "You have to save Claire and our baby!"

He didn't care if she died.

Lying there, Yvette listened to those chilling words and suddenly remembered something from long ago.

She'd once come down with a bad cold, and Yates had stayed beside her bed for three days and nights. Dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, but he'd refused to leave her side. Holding her hand, he'd pleaded with her over and over.

"Yvette, please get better soon. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

Now, he could stand there and watch them drain her blood, casually declaring that it didn't matter if she died.

The grief and sheer absurdity of it overwhelmed her. Darkness swallowed her vision, and she lost consciousness once more.

When she woke again, there was no one beside her.

Just then, her phone rang.

"Ms. Chandler, this is the civil registry. Your mandatory divorce waiting period has ended. You can now come in to collect your finalized divorce papers."

Yvette struggled out of bed and made her way out of the hospital room.

As she passed Claire's room, she caught sight of Yates leaning over Claire's stomach, his face glowing with the excitement of a man about to become a father.

The sight of them nestled together hurt her eyes, but her heart had long since gone numb.

Without a word, she turned and walked away.

After collecting her divorce papers, Yvette returned to the mansion to pack.

She had surprisingly few belongings to take. Most of the jewelry, designer handbags, and expensive clothes Yates had given her over the years were left untouched.

While clearing out the bottom drawer of her desk, her fingers brushed against a hard box.

Inside was a thick stack of love letters, all written by Yates when they were young.

[Yvette, I saw you talking to that guy from the other class today, and I nearly went crazy with jealousy. You're mine, and mine alone.]

[Yvette, as soon as I graduate, we're getting married. I'm going to give you the grandest wedding imaginable. I want the whole world to know that Yvette Chandler is Yates Prescott's wife.]

[Honey, today marks our 999th day together. Loving you is the best, happiest thing I've ever done. We'll be together forever and grow old side by side.]

Yvette read through the letters one by one. She didn't cry, though her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the pages.

Eventually, she stood and looked around the home she'd decorated with such care.

They'd cooked together in that kitchen, watched movies together, and spent countless hours planning their future. On the living room couch, Yates had once held her in his arms and told her she was his entire world. In their bedroom, they'd fallen asleep wrapped around each other, promising to grow old together.

Now, every one of those memories felt like a cruel joke.

Yvette took her suitcase to the front door.

Then she flicked on a lighter and tossed it toward the curtains.

The flames spread rapidly, devouring the couch, the love letters, the piano...

As the fire raged, Yvette could almost see herself and Yates at sixteen.

They were holding hands, laughing and playing beneath a cherry blossom tree. He tugged at her ponytail, and she chased after him, laughing.

Then, little by little, the two figures faded together into the flames until nothing remained.

A faint smile touched Yvette's lips before she turned and walked away without looking back.

Before her flight took off, Yvette logged onto social media and published one final post.

[At sixteen, you promised you'd love me for the rest of your life. At twenty, we got married, and you stood before a priest and swore you'd always be faithful. At twenty-five, you fell in love with another woman.

Today, we're divorced.

You can take back every promise you ever made. I'm taking back the heart I gave you.

From now on, I'm no longer the Mrs. Prescott you tricked into marrying you.

I'm just Yvette Chandler.

@YatesPrescott]

Once the post went through, she switched off her phone, removed the SIM card, and casually tossed it into the trash bag in the seat pocket in front of her.