Jealous Games, Broken Hearts

When Sloane posted yet another intimate photo of her and Rafael on social media, I sent him a message asking for a divorce.

Rafael called three minutes later.

I watched Rafael name light up my screen and disappear. When he called a third time, I answered.

"What is this supposed to mean, Elodie?" His voice was glacial.

I closed the bottle of prenatal vitamins on the coffee table. "Exactly what it says."

There was a brief silence.

"You want a divorce because Sloane made one post?"

Sloane. He said her name with effortless familiarity. It still hurt, but I was tired of pretending it did not.

"This isn't about her."

"Then what is it? The dinner I sent her? Driving her home? Answering a few messages?"

Each question pressed another nail into my heart.

"It's because you knew it would hurt me."

After another pause, he said, "Then remember not to spend so long talking to another man in front of me again."

My message was still on the screen.

[Let's get a divorce.]

"He was my college classmate. We were discussing an exhibition."

"I didn't like it."

"So you deliberately use Sloane to punish me?"

"I'm teaching you a lesson. I thought you would understand."

Rafael always expected me to understand. His obligations came first. His authority was not to be challenged. Sloane could ride in his car and wear his coat because he had never slept with her. In his mind, he had not betrayed me. He had merely used another woman to remind me who controlled our marriage.

"I understand now."

His tone softened, certain I had surrendered. "Then come downstairs. I'm outside."

His black sedan waited below my studio apartment, flanked by Vescari guards. I had moved here after our argument instead of returning to the estate.

Once, the sight of Rafael coming for me would have been enough. Even without an apology, I would have told myself that his presence proved he cared.

Tonight, I stayed where I was.

"I'm not coming down."

"Elodie, stop this."

Those words unlocked three years of humiliation. I had always feared his anger, his silence, and the tenderness he displayed to Sloane whenever he wanted to wound me. I had always yielded first.

"I'm not making a scene. I want a divorce."

He gave a disbelieving laugh. "You're carrying my child, and you're talking about leaving me?"

"That is exactly why I'm leaving. I won't let our child grow up watching his father use another woman to humiliate his mother."

"I have never betrayed you," he said sharply. "There is nothing between Sloane and me. She simply knows how to make you remember your place."

Even his denial was arrogant.

"You are my wife. You carry the Vescari heir. You live in my property under my protection. You cannot leave me."

I rested a hand on my rounded stomach. The baby moved beneath my palm.

"Then let's test that theory."

His voice hardened. "Fine. Take two days to calm down. When you come to your senses, return to the estate. I'll leave you a way back, but don't force me to bring you home myself."

The passenger door of his car opened. Sloane stepped out wearing Rafael's black coat. She looked up at my window, smiled, and waved her phone.

Rafael saw me watching. Without explanation, he pulled the coat more securely around her shoulders, making certain I saw every movement.

"Now do you understand?" he asked. "This is what a lesson looks like."

I ended the call.

Eventually, he drove away with Sloane. A friend request appeared on my phone moments later.

[Mrs. Vescari, how many days will you last this time?]