Chapter 8 – The Dying Wish

I sat on the edge of my bed, the soft hum of the air conditioner blended with the quiet of my room. Around me, my packed luggage stood like silent witnesses to a decision I had yet to fully process. The divorce papers lay across the small table beside me, crisp and final, the ink still smelling faintly of authority and inevitability.

I picked them up again, letting my fingers trace the edges, and I wondered… had I fulfilled Victor’s dying wish? Had I done what he hoped I would do?

The thought carried me back to those long days in the hospital, years ago. I could still see him lying there, frail, yet sharp-eyed, a spark of the man he had been stubbornly alive in his gaze. I had sat by his side for hours, tending to his needs, listening to his thoughts, his regrets, his hopes.

“I don’t know where I went wrong with Adrian,” he had whispered that one evening, voice raspy. His hand reached for mine, though I held back, knowing the weight of it. “I thought… I thought I was raising a son who would find peace in this life. I hoped… I hoped he would be happy someday. And now… I don’t know if I did right by him.”

I had squeezed his hand, words caught somewhere between compassion and helplessness. “Victor… you did your best,” I had murmured.

“Perhaps,” he had said, letting out a long sigh. “But he… he’s reckless, stubborn, blind at times. And yet… I trust you. I trust that you will guide him. Save him from himself, if you can. You’re the only one who can.”

I had nodded silently, a weight settling over me. His faith in me, in what I could do for his grandson, had been both an honor and a burden. I had promised, in my heart if not my voice, to do what I could, even if it cost me everything.

And now, in the present, staring at the divorce papers and the suitcases lined neatly on the floor, I wondered if I had kept that promise. Has Adrian found peace? Has he… been happy? The question burned quietly in my chest, mingling with a pang of sadness I hadn’t fully acknowledged.

**********

By the time Adrian called, I was already tired.

His voice over the phone had been clipped, impatient, as though even needing my help annoyed him.

“I left some documents at home,” he said. “Bring them to Bentley Bar.”

I frowned. “Now?”

“Yes, now. I need them.”

And then he hung up.

No please. No thank you. Just an order, as always.

So I went.

By the time I got to the bar, I was already regretting it. The music spilled out before I even stepped fully inside, low and heavy, mixing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the kind of warm golden lighting meant to make everything look expensive. Adrian and his friends had taken over one of the private lounge sections near the back. Some company staff were there too, laughing a little too carefully, drinking a little too politely, as if none of them were quite sure how relaxed they were allowed to be around him.

And Melissa was there.

Of course she was.

She was perched beside Adrian like she belonged there, one hand curled around her drink, the other resting far too comfortably on the arm of his chair. She was dressed beautifully, the kind of effortless, polished look that made every woman around her look underdone. And the way she leaned toward him, smiling as he spoke, made it painfully clear what role she had decided to play tonight.

His girlfriend.

Not the word anyone would say aloud, of course. Not when I existed. Not when I was the wife everyone knew he had married, even if only on paper. But everyone there knew the truth. They knew Melissa was the woman Adrian actually wanted beside him. 

The moment I stepped closer, several heads turned.

I felt it immediately, that shift in the air. Recognition. Curiosity. Judgment.

Melissa looked me over from head to toe, slowly, and her smile sharpened.

“Wow,” she said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “You actually came dressed like that?”

I looked down at myself automatically. I was wearing a simple blouse and trousers. Nothing glamorous, because I had not come to impress anyone. I had come to drop off papers and leave.

I ignored her.

Keeping my face blank, I walked straight to Adrian and held out the file. “These are the documents.”

He took them, but his eyes flicked over me with a faint frown. “You could’ve at least made an effort.”

I stared at him.

He glanced pointedly at my clothes. “You’re my wife. You’re showing up here looking like that?”

A few people looked away awkwardly. Others pretended not to listen.

Heat crept into my face, sharp with embarrassment, but I kept my voice even. “Adrian, I brought the papers you asked for. I’m leaving.”

I turned before he could say anything else.

I had barely taken two steps when I heard Melissa’s voice behind me.

“Elena.”

I stopped, mostly because her tone was too sweet.

When I turned, she was already getting to her feet, smoothing down her dress with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She walked toward me slowly, every movement graceful. The room had gone quieter now, not silent, but quiet enough that I could feel people watching without having to look.

She stopped in front of me, smiling as though we were about to share a pleasant little conversation.

Then she leaned in close enough for only me to hear.

“Watch me show you where you belong.”

Before I could even react, before I could step back or speak, she let out a startled gasp and threw herself backward.

It happened so fast my mind could barely catch up.

One moment, she was standing in front of me. Next, she was on the floor.

A cry went up around us.

“Melissa!”

Adrian was out of his seat in an instant, at her side before I had even fully processed what had happened. He crouched beside her, one hand on her arm, his face dark with alarm.

“Melissa, are you okay?”

She looked up at him with wide, wounded eyes, one hand trembling against her side. “I… I don’t know what happened. I just—” Her voice broke. “I only wanted to talk to her.”

I felt like all the air had been sucked from the room.

“No,” I said at once. “That’s not what happened.”

Adrian’s head snapped up, and the look he gave me was pure fury.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

Shock rooted me in place. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Are you serious right now?” He rose to his feet, still half-turned toward Melissa like he was shielding her from me. “You shove her in front of everyone and then stand there pretending you didn’t?”

“I did not shove her!” My voice cracked, anger and disbelief tangling together. “She pushed herself. She did it on purpose.”

Melissa made a small sound from the floor, like she was trying not to cry.

That only made everything worse.

Adrian looked at me as though I had become something ugly. “You’re unbelievable.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“And I’m telling you to stop.” His voice dropped, low and cutting. “Not here. Not with this pathetic scene.”

Pathetic.

The word struck hard.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said again, but now my voice sounded smaller, weaker, drowned beneath the humiliation crawling up my throat.

He did not even hesitate.

“Elena, leave.”

I stared at him.

“Leave,” he repeated, colder this time. “ I’ll deal with you when I get home.”

The room felt too warm. Too full of eyes.

No one said anything. No one moved. They just watched.

The staff. His friends. All of them.

And Melissa, still on the floor, tucked against Adrian’s side with just enough fragility to look innocent.

I looked at Adrian one last time, waiting for something. A pause. A flicker of doubt. Some sign that he might ask what really happened.

Nothing came.

He had already decided.

My throat burned. I swallowed hard, forcing down the shame threatening to rise there, then turned and walked away before anyone could see how badly my face was trembling.

I made it outside before the first tear slipped free.

By the time I got home, I was shaking.

I shut the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it, my chest tight, my mind replaying the scene over and over again in cruel, unbearable detail. Melissa’s whisper. Her fall. Adrian rushed to her without a second thought. The disgust in his voice. The way he had looked at me like I was the problem. Like I was something shameful he needed removed.

A broken sound escaped me before I could stop it.

I covered my mouth, but it was useless. The tears came anyway, hot and humiliating.

What hurt the most was not Melissa. Not really. Melissa had always made her hatred plain. Cruelty from her was expected.

But Adrian—

He had not even asked.

Not once.

He had not looked at me and wondered whether I was telling the truth. He had not cared enough to listen. He had taken one look at Melissa on the floor and decided I was guilty.

As if believing the worst of me came naturally to him.

I slid down against the door, wrapping my arms around myself as I cried.

I could still hear him.

What is wrong with you?

As if I were the one who had done something unforgivable.

As if I were the one who should be ashamed.

And somehow that hurt more than the humiliation, more than the scene, more than all those watching eyes.

Because for one stupid, foolish moment, some part of me had hoped he would at least hear me out.

But he hadn’t.

He never even tried.