11

"Is this a joke to you, Chase?" Giselle screamed, clutching the white shirt like a weapon. "I bought this shirt for you! I spent months saving up and picking out the right fabric because I knew you liked the breathability of that cloth. And you wore it to go sleep with another woman? Another woman!!"

Chase didn't even look up from his phone. "It’s a shirt, Giselle. Don't be so dramatic. It's not like the fabric is sacred."

"You are so unbelievable!" she shrieked, throwing the crumpled cloth at his chest. "You wore something I gave you out of love to go screw someone else? Do you have any idea how sick that is? How twisted you have to be to do that?"

Chase caught the shirt and dropped it to the floor with a sneer. "Love? Is that what you call it? You thought if you bought me these cheap things, I’d forget how boring you are. Newsflash: it didn't work."

"I was your wife! I cared for you!"

"You were just a placeholder," Chase snapped, stepping toward her, his eyes piercing into hers. "You’re a bland, middle-class girl who lucked into a name you don't deserve. You think because you wash my clothes and all that I owe you anything? You’re fucking delusional."

"You’re a monster," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"Okay, what else! This sexy monster fucked you until he was done with your stale pussy," he countered, his voice dripping with venom. "I look at you and I see a Victorian nun who’s afraid of her own shadow. My mistress is by far a better woman. She is so feminine. She doesn't beg for scraps of my time. Only a proper woman deserves to handle a man like me, unlike you—a used-up, clingy little girl who’s only still in this house because my father took pity on your pathetic sobbing self."

"How can you say that to me Chase? I gave you everything!" She said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"And 'everything' wasn't enough," he laughed harshly. "You’re a burden, Giselle. A piece of furniture I’m tired of looking at. You have no brain, no spark, and clearly no self worth. If you had an ounce of self-respect, you’d have walked out that door the second I handed you the papers. But no. You’d rather stay here and sniff my collars like a stray dog. You’re disgusting."

"I hate you," she choked out. Tears pouring out of her eyes.

"Good," Chase hissed, leaning into her space until she flinched. "Hate is at least an interesting emotion. It’s the first time you haven't been completely useless."

"Get out," she sobbed.

"Gladly. I have a real woman waiting for me. "

"But come on Chase, what happened to us, Chase! How did I fall so short that You brought her stinking kiss on the shirt I bought you into our home!"

Chase laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "Our home? Don't get ahead of yourself. I hate that I have to remind you every now and then that You’re only still here because my father has some twisted sense of 'family values' and doesn't want a scandal during the merger. You’re a squatter, Giselle."

"I am your wife!" He yelled!

"You are a miserable mistake," Chase hissed, stepping toward her until she was backed against the wall. "Look at you. Crying over a shirt. You’re pathetic in the most gruesomely disgusting way. You’re a boring, clingy, middle-class bitch who got lucky when I put a ring on your finger. You have no talent, no ambition, and clearly, no self-respect, listen you damn piece of pathetic misfortune, every day you should go on your weak knees and thank God I gave you this life, you dont deserve to even breath near me! You irritate me!!."

A wave of chilled shiver rushed through her, a part of her wanted to run into him and ask him to take back what he said, another part of her detested the man standing in front of her.

Giselle’s lip trembled. "Chase, please..."

"Don't 'please' me, bitch! Just go die off or something," he mocked. "You’re lucky I’m even letting you sleep in my room. If it were up to me, you’d be on the street where you belong. You’re a used-up toy, Giselle. I’m done playing with you. Go be a real woman. You’re just a burden I’m waiting to drop. I rather be caught dead than be caught with you, stay the fuck away from my business. i did not ask you to wash my clothes, you feel me?."

Giselle broke. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob, the weight of his insults crushing the last of her strength. Her face was burning red.

"That is enough!"

The voice came from the top of the staircase. It was a roar of pure, unfiltered rage. Richard Hemingway stood there, his face contorting into a grimace. His hands were gripped tight on the railing, his knuckles white.

Chase jumped, spinning around. "Dad, I was just—"

"Shut your mouth, thats not how you speak to your wife," Richard commanded, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. He descended the stairs slowly, his eyes never leaving his son. He didn't look at Giselle, but the air around him felt protective, like a storm front moving in.

"Dad, she was harrassing me about—" he said biting a side of his lips.

"I heard every word, Chase," Richard said, stopping on the final step. He was inches away from Chase now, towering over him despite being nearly the same height. The sheer power in Richard’s stance made Chase look like a child. "I did not raise a man who speaks to women that way. Certainly not a Hemingway."

"She’s being fucking dramatic and overly emotional—"

"I said shut up!" Richard yelled, the sound echoing through the foyer. "Go to my study. Now. Do not speak. Just fucking go. Sit there and wait for me."

Chase looked like he wanted to argue, but one look at Richard’s eyes silenced him. He turned and scurried toward the study like a kicked dog.

Richard turned to Giselle. He saw her shaking, her face wet with tears. She looked miserable. For a second, his professional mask slipped, and the man from the bar; the man who had held her with such tenderness flickered in his eyes.

"Go to your room, Giselle," he said, his voice dropping to a low, gentle rumble. "Wash your face. I will handle this."

Giselle didn't wait. She ran up the stairs, the sound of her own sobbing the only thing she could hear. She slammed her door and collapsed onto the bed, burying her face in the pillows. She did not want to belong to someone else, but Chase was pushing her away and she did not want to believe that the end was the end. What had come over him? She recalled when he asked if she was going to have his babies. So how did he go from that to the monster he had become. He stopped sleeping in the room since she came back.

These past few days he had only come in to change into new pairs of clothes and then leave again.

As she laid on that bed, she replayed all the hurtful things he said to her, she felt her heart ripped out of her chest. Her soul was burning, in fiery flames and she just didn’t know how to quench it. It was almost like life was sipping out of her slowly. What had happened to Chase Hemingway, the love of her life?