Chapter 3: Sydney's POV

"What?"

"I want a divorce," I repeat.

Deckard remains frozen, staring at me as if I’ve suddenly started speaking a foreign language. His eyes search my face, looking for the crack, the moment where I’ll break into a sob and tell him I didn't mean it.

Then, he chuckles. "Oh, don't be dramatic, now," he pulls his away from me. "I know today has been a nightmare. My father dying, the tension with Grandma, Riley's accident with the photo, and all on our anniversary too. It's a lot for you to handle and I know you're upset and clearly not thinking straight. You’re exhausted, you’re angry, and you aren’t thinking clearly. But I did say I'd fix the picture, didn't I?"

"You think it's just all about the picture?"

My eyes cloud over with tears, but I hold them back.

"No." He then smiles and reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small velvet box. "I think it's because you think I don't care about our anniversary."

He snaps open the box and inside is a diamond bracelet. It looks very expensive, but I'm not moved. Cheat on me with your step mom and think expensive gifts would woo me?

He's got to be the most stupid man alive, or think that I'm the most stupid woman alive.

"I know our anniversary was ruined, but I didn't forget you, Sydney. I never do. Look, I bought this weeks ago, and I wanted tonight to be special too, but circumstances took that away from us. So let me make it up to you and put this day behind us?"

I stare at the bracelet. For a moment, I feel a twist of absurd amusement. This man who has protected me for three years. Has been gentle and attentive, always providing, always maintaining the perfect image of a billionaire power couple.

Looking at him now, I wonder if he has always been this creative with his lies, or if I had simply been too stupid and desperate for affection to see the truth beneath the surface.

If I hadn't seen the photo album, if I hadn't heard him talk to Georgia in the guest room, I would be falling into his arms right now.

Tch.

"Sydney," he murmurs, taking my hand after my long silence. He then begins to slide the bracelet on. "I know I–"

"Deckard?"

We both look up to see Georgia standing by the door, leaning against the frame. She looks fragile, her blonde hair slightly scattered and tears in her eyes.

Deckard pulls away from me in an instant, letting the bracelet fall to the ground between us.

I want to laugh in this moment. I'm sure he feels like touching my hand was cheating on her. I mean, three years of not touching me just to keep his conscience clean for her right?

And now that she's under our roof, he's even more scared of a misunderstanding. He can't risk her thinking he has any real intimacy with the woman he actually married.

"Georgia? What is it? Is something wrong?" He asks, standing to his feet.

"It's Riley," she whispers. "He won't stop crying. He’s calling for his 'Daddy Deckard.' He’s so scared, and he keeps saying he doesn't want to be alone in this big, dark house. He’s insisting that you stay with him tonight, just until he falls asleep. I tried to tell him no, but he’s inconsolable and now I don't know what to do."

Deckard looks at me, as if trying to make a choice. But I spare him tye trouble and smile.

"Go ahead. The poor child is sad and after all, he is your younger brother. He needs you."

I don't miss the way they both stiffen at my words. Deckard looks a little panicked but Georgia seems to have taken it with hostility.

"I won't be long," he tells me as he moves to the door. "We'll finish this conversation later. Just...rest."

Oh darling, I know you're going to be spending your night between her legs. No need for the fake reassurance.

Besides, done means done.

After they're gone, I realise that I might have been too quick to bring up the divorce. I'm still officially a staff in his father's company, my reputation is tied to the upcoming autumn gala and my personal finances are still linked with his.

I have to think this through and protect myself first, before anything. With a sigh, I slip off my wedding ring and set it on the night stand.

Let's get that junk out of the way.

Next, I need to get back on my feet and become more independent. I grab my phone from the nightstand and scroll steadily through my contacts. My fingers stop on one number that I haven't dialed in years.

I press the call button. It rings once...and then twice. On the third ring, the line connects.

"Hello?"