10

Valeria

I kept my spine straight as I met Eleanor’s cold, sharp glare. "I was out with Maya," I said, my voice smooth and calm. "Having tea."

Eleanor’s lips curled into a faint, condescending line. She took a slow step forward, the tip of her silver cane clicking against the marble floor. "You were gone for nearly three hours, Valeria. A woman in your position cannot simply wander around town without a driver, without an escort, and without informing the household staff. You have responsibilities to this name."

The sheer arrogance of her tone made a cold spark ignite in my chest. Four years ago, I would have ducked my head, apologized, and swallowed the shame. But today, with a tiny, fragile heartbeat pulsing inside me, her voice sounded surprisingly powerless.

I looked her dead in the eye. "I am thirty years old, Eleanor. I do not answer to you."

Eleanor froze. For a second, her sharp gray eyes widened in shock. No one in this family ever spoke to her like that—least of all me.

Her gaze dropped to my left hand resting at my side. The bare skin where my wedding ring used to sit was completely exposed under the foyer light. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, and a slow, cruel understanding dawned across her face.

"So," Eleanor whispered, her lips stretching into a faint, bitter smile that looked almost pleased. "It wasn't just a quiet disagreement about the memorial. The ring is off. You've finally pushed Tobias too far, haven't you?"

"My relationship with my husband is between Tobias and me," I replied, taking a step toward the staircase.

"Do not be naive, girl," Eleanor snapped, turning her body to block my path. "If you walk away from Tobias—or if he finally grows tired of looking at your second-rate reflection of Serena—you leave with nothing. A divorce from the Hayes family returns you straight to the pathetic, ordinary life you came from. No drivers, no luxury, no high-society doors opening for you. You will be a nobody again."

A sudden wave of nausea rolled over my stomach, sharp and hot. I swallowed hard, digging my fingernails into my palms behind my back to anchor myself against the dizziness. I forced my breathing to stay slow, refusing to let her see a single crack in my composure.

"An ordinary life," I said softly, looking at her with genuine pity, "might be far preferable to spending fifty years miserable inside a gilded cage."

Eleanor stared at me, genuinely speechless. The timid, desperate-to-please girl she had spent four years stepping on had vanished, and she didn't know how to handle the woman standing in her place.

Before she could recover her tongue, I brushed past her and walked up the grand staircase without looking back.

That evening, I was sitting at the small wooden desk in the guest room, writing down a list of local galleries and art restoration studios I could contact for work, when a quiet knock sounded at the door.

Mrs. Gable stepped in, holding a fresh linen napkin. "Mrs. Hayes? Mr. Hayes has just arrived home. He asked if you would join him for dinner downstairs in the main dining room."

I paused, my pen hovering over the notepad. "Did he say why?"

"No, ma'am," Mrs. Gable said gently. "He just said he would like to eat with you tonight."

A quiet, foolish flutter went off in my chest. Did he want to repair things? Had the heavy silence of the last few days finally reached him? Had he looked at my empty space at the table and realized he didn't want to lose me?

I changed into a simple cream knit sweater, combed my hair, and walked down to the main dining room.

Tobias was already sitting at the head of the long table. He had removed his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up to his elbows. He looked handsome, polished, and entirely composed.

"Valeria," he said, standing up politely as I entered. He gestured toward the seat to his right—not at the far end of the long table where we usually sat miles apart, but right beside him.

"Tobias," I murmured, taking the seat.

The servants served a quiet course of vegetable soup and roasted chicken. Tobias ate in silence for a few minutes, his dark eyes brooding and unreadable. I watched his profile, my heart beating with a strange, nervous hope.

When the servants cleared the plates and left the room, shutting the heavy double doors behind them, the room fell into absolute quiet.

Tobias reached into his leather briefcase sitting on the chair beside him. He pulled out a thick, navy-blue paper folder and placed it deliberately in the center of the table right between us.

On the cover, in gold embossed lettering, was the emblem of his family's primary law firm.

The fragile hope in my chest shattered into ice.

Tobias rested his large hands flat on the table, looking at me with a cold, businesslike detachment that chilled me to the bone.

"I think we need to discuss our marriage," he said.