Chapter 2

Alice’s POV

The cold sank into my bones so fast it felt personal, like the night itself had decided I deserved punishment. I pounded the door again, then pressed my forehead to the wood, my breath fogging the glossy finish. “David,” I called, keeping my voice low at first, like I could shame him into opening it. Then I tried louder, because humiliation clearly wasn’t enough. “David, open the door. Please. Stop this.”

Nothing.

No footsteps. No latch. No irritated sigh from the other side. Just silence that felt deliberate.

I fumbled for my phone, already knowing the answer, but panic makes you check anyway. My hands went to my bag next, and my stomach dropped harder. My bag and my mobile phone were both in David’s car. I’d left them there like an idiot, or like a wife who still believed her husband would come back for her.

A wind cut down the front steps and snatched at the thin fabric of my dress. I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing my hands along my bare arms, trying to create friction, trying to create warmth, trying to create anything that resembled comfort. “Okay,” I whispered to myself, teeth chattering, “okay, just think.”

No phone meant no taxi, no Uber, no calling anyone. And I didn’t even know if anyone would come if I did call. That was the ugliest thought of all, the one that slid in quietly when the world went quiet. I crouched by the front door, tucking my knees to my chest, pressing my cheek against them like a child trying to disappear.

I looked up at the upstairs windows, searching for the glow of David’s study light. I could see it, faintly, like a lighthouse that existed only to mock me. I imagined him in there, calm and composed, probably talking to Lily, probably making plans, probably convincing himself he was finally doing the “right” thing by discarding me.

My eyes stung. I blinked hard and stared at the stone tiles beneath my heels. I didn’t want to cry out here

If anything, it might please Lily

I lifted my face toward the night sky, cold and starless, and swallowed the ache in my throat.

I drifted in and out of shallow sleep, my head tilted against the door, my dress crumpled beneath me, my legs numb.

Sometime after sunrise, the sound of car horns ripped through the quiet and tore me fully awake. I flinched so hard my shoulder knocked the door, and pain shot down my arm. My eyes blurred as I pushed myself up, palms scraping against stone. A luxury car sat in the drive, glossy and perfect, like it had never known discomfort or fear. David honked again, impatient, like I was a stray animal blocking his path.

And there, in the passenger seat, sat Lily.

She leaned gently against his shoulder, her hair neat, her makeup fresh, her posture soft and delicate. They looked like newlyweds reunited after years apart, radiating sweetness. That sweetness hit me like acid. It wasn’t even that they were trying to hide it, it was worse. They weren’t hiding anything at all.

David stepped out of the car without rushing. He adjusted his cuff like he had all the time in the world, then looked at me as if I was the inconvenience, not the woman he’d locked out all night.

I pushed a hand through my hair, realizing too late how tangled it was, how pitiful I looked. My thin dress clung to me in all the wrong places, and my knees felt weak. I straightened anyway because pride is sometimes the only thing that keeps you from collapsing.

He didn’t soften. He didn’t even look surprised that I’d been out here. It was like he expected this. Like he’d calculated it.

“Let’s divorce, Alice,” he said. “I’ll give you a fair price.”

I stared at him, my lips parting, then pressing together again because I could feel Lily watching me like she was studying a specimen. I swallowed, forcing my voice to work. “No. I don’t want divorce.” My words came out raw, cracked with cold and exhaustion. I lifted my chin anyway and made myself meet his eyes. “I’ve loved you for ten years. I can’t just end our relationship like this.”

Lily’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, almost pity. She tucked closer into David’s space, as if she needed the world to see where she belonged.

David’s expression hardened into something that looked like disgust. I saw it in the way his eyes narrowed, in the way he tilted his head like he was confirming a theory he’d held for years. He didn’t touch me, but I felt slapped anyway.

He dismissed me with disdain, his whole face saying, I knew it. “You really are a greedy woman,” he said. “My patience is limited. Leave now and accept my terms sensibly, or I’ll have my solicitor speak with you.”

Greedy.

The word made my cheeks burn. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “Greedy?” I echoed, breath shaking. “You think I’m out here freezing because I want money?”

His gaze flicked over me, cold and clinical. “Don’t pretend you’re noble. You got what you wanted three years ago.”

My chest tightened so hard I could barely inhale. I wanted to scream that I hadn’t wanted any of it like this, that if I could rip that night out of time I would. Instead I heard myself whisper, “You locked me out.”

Lily’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say a word. She just kept leaning on him, soft and silent, the perfect grieving widow, the perfect fragile woman who somehow always ended up protected.

David shrugged like the concept didn’t matter. “You’re fine. You survived.”

Survived. Like I was a problem that hadn’t died fast enough.

I understood then, with a sick clarity, that in order to rid himself of me, he’d already decided to crush me. Not emotionally, he’d done that years ago. Professionally. Publicly. Legally. The Neighley family did not lose. They didn’t compromise. They didn’t negotiate. They annihilated.

The solicitors of the Neighley Group were famously undefeated. Everyone knew it. The Neighley family maintained a team of notoriously ruthless solicitors at considerable expense each year, like guard dogs trained to tear apart anyone who stepped too close to the family name.

I forced my shoulders back, even as my throat threatened to close. “So that’s it?” I asked, my voice rising despite my efforts. “You’re going to threaten me with your lawyers because I won’t quietly disappear?”

His face didn’t change. “I expect you to consider this carefully,” he said. “Contact me when you’ve made up your mind.”

He turned to the car, opened the back door, and retrieved my handbag with calm, measured movements. Then he walked back to me and placed it in my hands. His fingers brushed mine for less than a second. He even looked, for the briefest moment, like the kind of man who could be called gentlemanly.

Still so gentlemanly, I thought bitterly, though I knew it was ingrained breeding, not tenderness toward me.

My fingers tightened around the bag strap, and my eyes stung again. “David,” I said, softer now, because apparently I never learned, “is there really nothing in you that feels… anything?you’re standing here talking about my ‘price’ like you’re buying a car.”

His jaw flexed. For a moment I thought he might snap, might reveal some sliver of guilt or grief. Instead he said, “This is exactly why we’re divorcing. You’re always dramatic.”

Lily finally spoke, voice gentle and carefully controlled. “Alice, please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I turned my head slowly toward her, and the cold in my chest transformed into something sharp. “Harder?” I repeated, incredulous. My laugh came out jagged. “You slept with his cousin the night I ruined my life, you married that cousin, you just became a widow, and now you’re sitting in my husband’s car like you own him. You’re telling me not to make it hard?”

Her eyes glistened. If she’d been alone, maybe I would’ve believed the tears. But pressed against David’s shoulder, looking safe and cherished, she looked like a saint in a painting.

David’s voice cut in like a blade. “Enough.”

I flinched. I hated that I flinched. I hated that my body still responded to him like he had power over me, because he did.

He stepped back, then strode away without a backward glance, already finished with me. Lily lingered half a second longer, her gaze sliding over my face. There was something there, something private, almost triumphant, almost sad. Then she shut the door and the car rolled away, smooth and expensive, leaving me standing in the driveway with my bag in my hands and my heart cracking open in silence.

My face felt ashen. My knees wobbled as I turned toward the house, and the gate recognized my fingerprint this time. Of course it did. It opened as if nothing had happened, as if I hadn’t spent the night outside like a dog.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of polish and flowers, too clean, too perfect. The hallway lights were warm. Everything was warm. It made me furious.

I walked in, my heels still in my hand, and my voice came out hoarse as I called, “Run a bath. Now.”

A maid stood near the entry table, the same maid who used to greet me with a smile, the same maid who used to call me “Mrs. Neighley” with forced respect. She didn’t move. She looked me up and down slowly, deliberately, and her mouth twisted into contempt.

Heat flared in my cheeks, humiliation crawling up my neck. I set my heels down carefully, refusing to let my hands shake. “Did you hear me?” I asked, forcing steadiness into my tone.

She didn’t answer immediately. She only gave me that look, the one that said: you’re finished. The once affable servants had changed their tune, sneering behind eyes that used to be polite. I could practically hear what they’d been saying when I wasn’t around, the same poison I’d overheard before. Shameless woman. Not worthy of Mr. Neighley in every way. Parasite. Only here because I married into wealth.

I stared at her, and my voice lowered. “Run the bath.”

She sniffed, finally moving, but the motion was slow, disrespectful. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, and the sarcasm in those two words landed like a slap. Then she added, as if she couldn’t resist, “Miss Lily has always been so accomplished. An intern at Shengxin Law Firm at such a young age. People say she’s brilliant.”

I felt my stomach twist. I forced my mouth into a thin smile, the kind you wear when you’re trying not to scream. “Good for her,” I said, my voice tight.

The maid’s eyes glittered with satisfaction, like she’d won something by hurting me. “Some people,” she said, “earn their place. Others just marry into it.”

I didn’t answer. If I opened my mouth, I might’ve said something that would give her the satisfaction of seeing me unravel. So I walked past her, each step heavy, and locked myself in the bathroom.

When the shower water hit my skin, I closed my eyes and let my shoulders sag for the first time. I stood there and tried to wash away the night, the cold, the sight of Lily leaning into my husband like she belonged there. I pressed my palm to the tile, breathing hard, feeling the ache in my chest throb with every inhale.

Then my phone chimed from my bag on the counter.

The sound made me jump. My hands fumbled for it, fingers clumsy. I stared at the screen, expecting another humiliation, another message from someone in the family, another reminder that I was disposable.

Instead, an offer letter popped up.

I wasn’t surprised by the email notification; such invitations had been constant for the past three years, arriving like ghosts of the life I used to have, the life I’d put on pause for a marriage that was never real.

It was an offer from Sidley Austin, inviting me to become their Chief Legal Officer.

My heart thudded, not with pain this time, but with something that felt almost unfamiliar. Power. Possibility. Sidley Austin, one of the world’s largest and most prestigious law firms, a true full service giant. Renowned for its formidable capabilities in mergers and acquisitions, litigation, and regulatory affairs, it was the kind of place people whispered about with reverence and fear, a veritable Wall Street butcher.

I stared at the email until the steam blurred my vision, then I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel with shaking hands. My reflection in the mirror looked exhausted. Pale. Furious. Alive.

For three years, I had ignored offers like this because I thought if I just tried harder, if I just stayed softer, if I just stayed loyal, David might choose me. I’d convinced myself love was something you could earn through patience and sacrifice.

I laughed once, sharp and quiet, and the sound startled me. Then I typed with damp fingers, my jaw clenched, my eyes burning with a different kind of fire.

“I will consider this offer.”

For three years, for the first time, I hesitated, then finally sent it.