Chapter 5

It was a beautiful day to annoy the hell out of my husband and make him feel like crap. And the best part? He wouldn’t say anything because he didn’t want to upset me.

The sun was bright, the streets bustling, and I walked with purpose. For the first time in years, I didn’t tuck my head down or slip into the background like a quiet shadow. No, I walked like I wanted to be seen. Like I wanted the world to remember who I was.

Cameras flashed from the corners of the high-end shopping district, and I didn’t flinch. People whispered behind their hands, their eyes widening as they recognized me. Sydney Carter, the golden princess of the Carter family, was back.

I had spent the last three years avoiding attention. Keeping my head down. Playing the role of the obedient wife because it made Eric comfortable. He never liked the idea that people thought he married up. He preferred the illusion that we were equals, that his presence alone was what kept me shining. He hated that my last name carried more weight than his.

But today? Today, I didn’t care.

I wore heels that clicked against the marble floors of the luxury shopping mall, a designer dress that hugged my figure just right. Every inch of me screamed old money, power, and confidence. It was the way I used to be before I let myself be reduced to nothing more than "Eric’s wife."

Not anymore.

I ran my fingers over the displays in a jewelry store, the staff immediately perking up, ready to cater to me.

"Would you like to try this on, Mrs. Stanley?" one of them asked politely, hesitating on my last name as if they weren’t sure I still claimed it.

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. "Sure," I said, letting them slip a diamond bracelet onto my wrist. Cameras snapped outside the glass storefront, capturing my every move.

Good. Let them watch. Let them speculate. Let them know I’m not hiding anymore.

And better yet, let Eric see them.

I strolled into another boutique, my fingers trailing over racks of silk blouses and designer handbags. A shop assistant hovered nearby, eager but nervous. I picked up a clutch, admiring its craftsmanship, and turned to her.

"Wrap it up for me. And this one, too." I pointed to a deep green dress on a mannequin, watching her scramble to accommodate me.

Money had never been an issue, but Eric had never liked me flaunting it. He liked me small, quiet, grateful. He liked me submissive and sweet.

Not anymore.

As I stepped out onto the main walkway of the mall, a cold voice cut through the noise.

"Well, well, well. Look who’s out here again."

I stopped, my expression carefully blank as I turned toward the voice. She stood in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest, her sharp eyes scanning me like she was trying to find the cracks beneath my surface.

She was my age, elegant but with a certain edge to her—like someone who had long since stopped sugarcoating anything. Celine Davenport.

I didn’t let the tension show in my posture. Instead, I smiled, all warmth and ease.

"Long time no see, Celine."

Her lips curled slightly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. "Who am I to dare expect time from the famous Sydney?"

Celine was never the type to hide her sarcasm. She was ruthless, blunt, and unafraid of confrontation—one of the many reasons we had clashed.

“Just doing a little harmless shopping,” I said, gesturing to the bags.

She snorted. "Since when? The last time I checked, you didn’t so much as spend your money in public." Her sharp gaze flicked down to my bags before meeting my eyes again. "What happened? Trouble in paradise?"

I shrugged. "A little," I admitted, my tone light. "My husband is trying to kill me."

Her sunglasses slid down the bridge of her nose as she stared at me, eyes sharp, searching my face as if waiting for me to break into laughter.

I didn’t.

Something shifted in her gaze, the edge of her usual sharpness dulling into something else. Concern.

Her arms, once tightly folded, loosened slightly. "You're joking." It wasn’t a question, but a desperate hope.

I shook my head. "Wish I was."

She let out a breath, something between a scoff and a disbelieving laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Jesus, Sydney..."

I swallowed, suddenly feeling the realness of this moment. "Thanks for meeting me, Celine. I’m sorry about our fallout—for that jackass."

Something flashed across her face—anger, regret, something deeper than words. For a second, I thought she was going to lash out, that the heaviness of the past would be too much. 

“I really am,” I added softly, taking a tentative step towards her so she knew I meant it.

Then, just as quickly, her expression cracked. Her shoulders trembled, her lips parted slightly.

"You should’ve come to me sooner," she muttered.

I should have. But at the time I didn't know what I know now. But she was the only person I could call. 

She wasn’t mad at me. She was mad at the situation, at the fact that she had always known Eric was a mistake but had been powerless to stop me.

I reached out tentatively, my fingers brushing her wrist. "I really am sorry."

Celine inhaled sharply, like she was trying to hold something back, but it was no use.

Before I could react, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around me, holding on as if afraid I’d disappear again.

And in an instant, she was crying.