Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Heat crept up her neck, and she felt her chest constricted at the sound of that question. 

Why are they suddenly all over her? Should she just quit Lancaster group and return back to being trapped in the Toriaga Mansion? At least, she didn’t have to answer questions like this there? 

Mr. Todd’s grin widened, drunk and careless, completely oblivious to the sting of his own words. His eyes glinted with the smugness of a man who thought he was being funny — a man who didn’t know the kind of silence she’d lived in for years.

She tried to form words, but her tongue felt heavy and numb, she barely talked about her marriage with Nikolai, how is she supposed to respond to this? 

All she could manage was a stiff swallow before forcing the corners of her mouth upward in a small, brittle smile.  “I… I think I should get going, then,” she murmured, her voice thinner than she’d intended. 

She began to push back her chair, desperate to escape the stares, the pity, the curious eyes that had turned toward her.

But before she could rise, Ryan’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, his tone calm — too calm, like a warning disguised as kindness. “Stay, if you want to. Your husband would have called you if he wanted to take you out, wouldn’t he?”

Was it sarcasm? Was he mocking her too? She knows she has a husband that didn’t even remember her birthday, why is he rubbing it on her face? 

Ryan’s face was unreadable, his eyes steady on her, giving nothing away. It was the same look he’d given her earlier that day — sharp, assessing, like he was trying to figure her out.

Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest. She could feel the weight of everyone’s attention shift again, the air thick with curiosity. Her hands trembled under the table. She hated that he could stop her so easily, that his words alone could root her to the spot.

Then, out of nowhere, her phone buzzed sharply on the table, vibrating against the polished wood.

The name flashing on the screen made her demeanor shift. Husband.

For a heartbeat, she thought she was dreaming. There is no way he is calling her to wish her a happy birthday.

She had saved his contact number this way eight years ago, back when she just got married to him, she was naïve enough to believe that marriage equaled love. Now, it was nothing more than a title that mocked her every time she saw it.

“OOoo,” someone beside her said, leaning in with a teasing grin. “Seems like the husband heard his name — because the husband is calling right now.”

A few people chuckled, one person even clapped softly, like it was a harmless joke, to them, it probably was.

Ryan didn’t laugh, he found nothing funny in the fact that Nikolai called Tiana just when he thought he would never call her.  His brows drew together slightly, but said nothing.

Tiana’s face burned. Her hands shook as she snatched up her phone, forcing a tight, polite smile. “Excuse me,” she muttered quickly and slipped out before her voice broke.

She stopped in the corridor, leaning against the wall, dragging in a sharp breath as the muffled laughter from inside slowly faded.

 Her phone was still vibrating in her palm, the word Husband glowing up at her again, cruel and cold.

"Why is he calling?" she whispered.

Their last conversation had been their usual cold, annual exchange — just arrangements for Pascal, their eight years old son, visiting him at Springfield. Nothing more.

Something had to be wrong.

She stared at the screen for a long moment before answering.

Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Hello?”

“Father is dead. The funeral’s in a week. Prepare Pascal for it.”

Her grip on the phone loosened slightly, her fingers numb as she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to anchor herself in the moment, to remember how to breathe. Nikolai’s voice was as cold as ever, flat and emotionless, delivering the news with the same detachment he’d always shown her.

George Toriaga was dead.

George Toriaga, Nikolai’s father was the only member of the Toriaga family who had welcomed her eight years ago when she arrived at their mansion, two months pregnant and terrified.

George had been stern but kind, his presence a rare warmth in a house that felt like a cage. He’d been the one to insist on the marriage, to demand that Nikolai take responsibility for the child they’d created at seventeen. 

His words echoed in her mind now, as clear as they’d been back then: “You are going to get married to her, and you are going to stay married to her till I take my last breath.”

He had indeed taken his last breath.

After a long pause, her voice came out quiet, almost detached, a mirror of Nikolai’s coldness. “I understand.”

There was no response, just a click as the line went dead. That is how detached their marriage was.

Her hand fell to her side, the phone slipping from her fingers and landing on the floor with a soft thud. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a struggle against the weight of what she’d just heard.

Now that he is gone, there was no way that Nikolai would stay married to her.

She had expected this day would come, George was old, his health frail, but the reality of it still shocked her, a cold wave crashing over her carefully built defenses.

The realization that with his death, the fragile thread holding her marriage together had snapped made her have mixed feelings. She didn’t know if she should be happy or sad about the fact that her marriage had come to an end.

Nikolai had never loved her. He’d bullied her, belittled her, his resentment a constant presence in their shared life. 

“Well… I guess it’s time to get a divorce.”