Rain and Ruins

Diane stumbled out of the Grand Imperial Hotel into the pouring rain, silver gown clinging to her skin like a second, freezing layer. 

She didn’t call for a cab. She didn’t have the strength to speak to anyone. Instead, she started walking the twelve blocks back to the penthouse she had once called home. Heels slipped on wet pavement. Rain mixed with the hot tears streaming down her face.

Every few steps, giant digital billboards lit up the night sky above the city streets.

The video was already everywhere.

Marcus’s confident voice echoed from the massive screens: “Sophia has been my rock… She’s going to be my wife.”

Then the close-up of Diane frozen mid-step, face pale with shock as Sophia glided onto the stage instead. The crowd’s gasps. Marcus holding up the envelope. Her name spoken like it was nothing.

“Ordinary.”

The word flashed in headlines beneath the looping clip on every major billboard: *Billionaire Heir Publicly Dumps Wife at Victory Party – Watch Live!*

Pedestrians stopped under umbrellas, pointing and whispering as they recognized her soaked figure walking below the screens. Some even lifted their phones to record her again.

Diane kept her head down, arms wrapped around herself, but the humiliation followed her block after block. By the time she reached the luxury apartment tower, she was completely drenched, mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks, silver gown ruined and heavy.

The doorman hesitated at the entrance, pity flashing in his eyes, but he still opened the door. She took the private elevator up to the penthouse with trembling fingers.

The moment the doors slid open, laughter and music hit her like a slap.

Marcus and Sophia were already inside, celebrating.

The living room lights were dimmed romantically. Champagne bottles sat open on the marble island. Sophia—still in her sleek red dress—leaned against Marcus, her arms around his neck as they kissed deeply. Soft jazz played from the speakers. Their suitcases and shopping bags were already scattered near the bedroom door, as if Sophia had moved in hours ago.

They pulled apart when they heard the elevator. Marcus turned, champagne flute in hand, and raised an eyebrow.

“Diane ?” He let out a short, surprised laugh. “You actually walked here? In that weather? God, you look pathetic.”

Sophia giggled, covering her mouth with perfectly manicured fingers. “Baby, be nice. She’s already had a rough night.”

Diane stood dripping on the marble floor, water pooling around her ruined heels. Her voice came out hoarse and broken. “Marcus… please. This is my home too. I just… I need…I need to talk to you. Don’t do this like this.”

Marcus set his glass down and crossed his arms, looking every bit the victorious man from the stage. “Your home? Not anymore. The papers are signed. The penthouse transfer is already processing. Sophia’s name will be on the deed by morning.”

Diane ’s knees weakened. She took a shaky step forward, tears mixing with the rain on her face. “Two years , Marcus. I gave you two year's, I gave up everything for you, I stayed up with you through every crisis. Please… at least let me stay tonight. I have nowhere to go. It’s raining so hard outside.”

Sophia rolled her eyes and poured herself more champagne. “Oh please. Spare us the sob story. You knew this was coming. You’re just… comfortable. Marcus needs someone who elevates him, not someone who reminds everyone he started average.”

Marcus smirked, walking closer until he towered over Diane ’s soaked, shivering form. “Listen to Sophia. She gets it. You were fine for the beginning—someone to cook meals and play the supportive wife role while I built everything. But now? Look at you.” He gestured at her ruined gown and streaked makeup. “Ordinary. Wet. Begging. It’s embarrassing.”

Diane ’s chest heaved with sobs. She dropped to her knees right there on the wet floor, pride shattering completely. “Please… I’m begging you. Just one night. I’ll sleep on the couch. I won’t cause any trouble. Marcus, I loved you. Don’t throw me out like this. Not tonight. Not after what you did in front of everyone.”

Sophia burst out laughing, the sound sharp and cruel. “Did you hear that? She’s on her knees! How dramatic. Marcus, should we call security or just let her drip-dry a little longer? It’s kind of funny.”

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. “Get up, Diane . You’re making a scene again. The video is already trending—millions have seen how gracefully you handled it. Don’t make it worse.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling casually. “Oh look, it’s even on the Times Square billboard right now. ‘Marcus Voss Trades Up.’ Nice headline.”

Diane reached out, grabbing the hem of his tuxedo pants with wet, shaking hands. “I have nothing. No money, no clothes, nowhere to sleep. Please… have some mercy. For old times’ sake.”

Sophia stepped forward and gently but firmly pried Diane ’s fingers off Marcus. “Old times are over, sweetie. Time to move on. There’s a shelter a few blocks away, I think. Or maybe call one of your little friends—the ones who aren’t already laughing at the video.”

Marcus looked down at her with pure disdain. “You have thirty minutes to grab whatever you can carry. After that, security will escort you out.”

Diane stayed on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably as rain continued to drip from her hair onto the floor. The laughter from Marcus and Sophia echoed around the penthouse that used to feel like theirs.

Just as Marcus turned away to kiss Sophia again, Diane ’s phone—still somehow working despite the rain—vibrated loudly in her ruined clutch.

She glanced down through blurred vision. A message had popped up: ‘You deserve better, Diane .’ The message read.

Diane blinked, her heart slamming against her ribs...