Chapter 4

I ran out of the office like a mad woman, barely holding myself together. My heels wobbled beneath me, and I nearly fell as I stumbled toward my car. My chest felt like it was on fire. My eyes were already soaked with tears, and my hands trembled so badly I could hardly grip the steering.

I yanked open the car door and dropped into the driver’s seat. For a moment, I just sat there—crying. No… wailing. My whole body shook with it.

“How could they do this to me?” I sobbed into the steering wheel. “What did I ever do to them?”

Over and over, I asked myself the same question. But there was no answer. Just the ache in my heart and the storm in my head.

I wiped my eyes quickly, trying to calm down enough to drive. I couldn’t even see clearly, but I started the engine and pulled away from the building without thinking about where I was going.

I didn’t care.

I just needed to escape.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I drove, my vision blurry, my heart pounding. I passed familiar streets without noticing. I was a body in motion, but my mind had shut down.

Somehow, I ended up in front of The Garden Lounge. I hadn’t even realized where I was driving to until I saw the sign.

I parked and stepped out slowly. My legs were weak, but I needed fresh air—needed somewhere I could breathe before I completely lost it.

Their garden was beautiful. Roses lined the path, and small fountains whispered soft sounds as the wind rustled the leaves. It was peaceful here. Peaceful enough to hide my chaos.

I dropped into one of the chairs in a quiet corner and leaned back, closing my eyes. I didn’t care how I looked. I didn’t care who saw me.

The silence only made the voices in my head louder.

She’s so dumb.

 She’ll be gone soon.

I gasped and held my chest again. I was suffocating. Right there, in a beautiful garden, in a quiet bar—I was drowning in betrayal.

A soft voice broke through.

“Ma’am?”

I opened my eyes slowly. A young waitress stood beside me, holding a notepad.

She tilted her head gently. “Are you okay?”

I nodded quickly, forcing a smile that barely moved my lips. “Yes. I’m… I’m fine.”

But I knew she didn’t believe me. Who would? I looked like a mess—makeup ruined, eyes red, clothes wrinkled. No woman who looked like me was "fine."

Still, she didn’t press further.

“Can I get you something?” she asked.

“Just… anything cold,” I muttered.

She nodded politely and walked away. A few minutes later, she returned and placed a drink in front of me.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said kindly.

I nodded again, and she left me alone.

I sat there, holding the glass in my hands without drinking it. I stared at the liquid, seeing nothing. Feeling everything.

How did I get here?

One day ago, I was planning our anniversary. I had picked a dress. I had dreamed of finally feeling like his wife again.

And now? I was a ghost, sitting in a bar garden, crying over a husband who had never loved me and a sister who wanted me gone.

I took a sip. The cold stung my throat, but it didn’t help. I cried quietly, each tear sliding down as I remembered the conversation I had heard—Elvis and Fiona plotting to get rid of me.

“They planned everything…” I whispered to myself.

The bar. The hotel. The pictures.

It had all been a setup.

And I fell right into it.

After some time, I forced myself to stand. I dug into my bag, left some money on the table, and walked back to my car.

The drive home was silent.

No music.

No thoughts.

Just emptiness.

When I got home, the house felt colder than usual. I walked in slowly and shut the door behind me. My body ached with exhaustion. I went straight to the shelf and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

I didn’t care anymore.

I poured myself a drink and dropped onto the couch. With every sip, the ache in my chest got heavier.

Then I heard the familiar sound of a car pulling into the compound.

Elvis.

I didn’t move as the door opened.

He stepped in, wearing that same cold, unreadable expression from the office. His eyes met mine for a brief second before he looked away like I didn’t matter—like I was just another piece of furniture in the house.

I waited.

I wanted him to speak. To explain. To tell me it was a mistake, that I misunderstood.

But he tried to walk past me.

“Evis,” I said, my voice shaking, “what was the meaning of what youu and my sister Fiona did in the office today?”

He paused, then slowly dropped his bag by the side.

He looked at me again—but with a face I didn’t recognize.

“What was the meaning of what?” he said blankly. “Wasn’t it clear enough what you saw?”

My lips parted in disbelief. “Can you hear yourself? On our second anniversary, I walked in and found you with my sister—in that position—and you’re not even sorry?”

His laugh was short and sharp. “You should’ve thought about this marriage before going around sleeping with other men.”

I stood up, the drink forgotten on the table. “What?! You saw me with Fiona and that’s your response? You’re blaming me?!”

“What happened to the photos, huh?” he said, walking closer. “You and your lover. In bed. In a hotel room. A night before our anniversary.”

“You know that’s not true!” I shouted. “You know I didn’t do that!”

“What’s not true?” he mocked. “That you were lying under a man? Or that it wasn't in a hotel bed? Which one?”

I stared at him, speechless. My throat was dry. I didn’t know how else to explain what I hadn’t even fully understood myself.

But I couldn’t tell him what I had heard—that I knew the truth. That I had listened to him and Fiona talk about how they had planned everything.

So I kept quiet. I only said, “I didn’t do it. I went to the bar with Fiona. We had drinks. I blacked out. I woke up in a hotel room. Alone.”

“I don’t want your explanation,” he snapped. “You cheated. That’s the truth. End of story.”

“Evis, I never cheated on you,” I said, tears streaming down again. “In two years of marriage, you’ve only touched me twice. And those times, you were drunk. I had to beg you—force you even—just to feel like your wife.”

“That’s why you cheated,” he said coldly. “Because I wouldn’t touch you.”

I flinched.

“For your information,” he added harshly, “I never loved you. I have never loved you. And I never will.”

My knees buckled slightly.

“I have always loved Fiona. Long before you showed up and came between us.”

My heart cracked.

“That’s why I don’t find you attractive. That’s why I couldn’t touch you,” he continued, his voice like a knife. “Fiona said you had a small brain. And I believed her. Only someone foolish wouldn’t have seen the handwriting on the wall.”

I couldn’t move.

I just stood there, the tears falling silently. My heart felt like it had been ripped out.

“But… Fiona told me you two were just colleagues,” I said weakly. “She introduced us. You said nothing was going on between you two.”

He looked at me for a long moment… then turned and walked away.

No word.

No apology.

Nothing.

The door slammed behind him, leaving me standing in the silence.

I collapsed onto the couch behind me and let out a sound I didn’t even recognize. A cry. A scream. Something in between.

Now it all made sense.

The coldness.

The rejection.

The nights I begged for affection.

He never loved me.

He was never mine.

And I was never his.

I picked up my phone with shaking hands, pulled my bag closer, and started canceling everything I had planned.

The dinner.

The surprise.

The celebration.

There was nothing left to celebrate.

Not tonight.

Not ever.