CHAPTER 4

Packing didn’t take long.

Though the divorce papers were clutched in her hand, a lingering, desperate hesitation kept her from signing. 

Finalizing the end of her world felt impossible, even now. 

The betrayal was a jagged pill to swallow, but it was the realization that Julian had never truly viewed her as his wife that cut the deepest.

Perched on the edge of the mattress, Evelyn stared at the large bag containing the remnants of her life. 

The divorce agreement sat beside the five-million-dollar settlement card, a cold price tag on five years of devotion.

The silence in the master bedroom was its own brand of torture.

 From the guest suite down the hall, muffled laughter drifted through the air. 

While Julian’s joy echoed through the walls, the sight of the room wounded her. Every corner whispered a memory: the velvet armchair where they shared coffee; the vanity where he once fastened a necklace, promising she was his greatest treasure.

All lies.

She proceeded with mechanical precision. She took little, only the clothes she had bought with her own money and a few sentimental items untainted by him. 

The designer gowns gifted for gala nights remained in the closet like colorful, hollow ghosts.

As she reached into the back of the closet for a suitcase, a sudden, violent wave of nausea hit her. 

Slumping against the cedar shelving, Evelyn felt her vision blur. A sharp, twisting cramp stole her breath.

‘Shock,’ she reasoned, squeezing her eyes shut. Her body was simply reacting to the slap and the humiliation.

She tried to stand, but the room tilted dangerously. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she gripped the dresser, waiting for the world to stop spinning. 

Another burst of laughter from the guest suite—Julian’s deep, protective tones followed by Claire’s soft coo, slashed through the quiet.

The sound was acid in her veins.

Her eyes drifted to the divorce papers on the duvet.

The five-million-dollar debit card lay beside them. She had retrieved it from the floor, not out of greed, but out of a desperate need for survival. 

Yet, her fingers refused to grasp the pen. 

To sign was to admit she was the "inconvenience" he claimed she was.

A strange, heavy warmth stirred in her lower abdomen. It wasn’t a cramp this time. 

A flicker of a thought crossed her mind; her monthly cycle was late.

She crushed the thought instantly. ‘No. Don’t even go there.’

Three years and a fortune had been spent on IVF. 

Every month for sixty months had ended in red stains and Julian’s growing frost. 

‘Stress,’ she told herself. 

Trauma had simply disrupted her body. 

To hope now was a luxury she couldn't afford; hope was the trap that had kept her here while Julian built a life with someone else.

She reached for her bag, intending to flee before they emerged, but a roar filled her ears.

The room dimmed to a sickly shade of grey. Her knees turned to water.

“Just... get to the door,” she whispered.

One step followed another, though the floor felt like the tilted deck of a sinking ship. Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the handle just as her strength vanished. 

The last thing she heard was Julian’s oblivious laughter echoing from the hallway before the darkness claimed her.

*****

A brutal jolt of ice-cold water hit her face and chest.

Evelyn gasped, her lungs burning as she sucked in the frigid air. Her body convulsed on the wet carpet.

“Get up!”

Julian loomed over her, an empty crystal pitcher in his hand. 

Droplets clung to his expensive watch. Claire stood behind him, her hand resting protectively over her pregnant belly.

“Julian, honey, don’t be so cruel,” Claire murmured. Her voice was a soft, melodic contrast to the tension in the room. “She looks quite pale.”

Evelyn blinked water from her lashes. Claire wore a mask of practiced pity, but the warmth failed to reach her eyes. 

They remained hard and triumphant. 

To Claire, Evelyn was merely a nuisance being cleared away.

“I don’t care how she looks,” Julian snarled, his face reddening. “I told you to be gone! Why are you still in this room? Why are you still in my house?”

“Julian... I fainted,” Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to push herself up. “I think... I’m sick.”

Julian let out a bark of mocking laughter. 

“Sick? Desperation is your only ailment, Evelyn. You think pretending to collapse will make me feel sorry for you? You think I’ll see you on the floor and suddenly choose a childless, hysterical woman over a family?”

Stepping over her, he snatched the divorce packet from the bed and flipped through the pages.

His eyes narrowed. “It’s not signed.”

The air in the room turned lethal. “You’re wasting my time. You’re stressing Claire out. I want this done now.”

“I can’t even hold a pen,” Evelyn pleaded, her head throbbing. “Please, just give me an hour to gather my strength—”

“No!” Julian roared.

He dropped to his knees beside her, offering no comfort. He gripped her arm and yanked her toward the vanity. He hauled her upward, forcing her into the chair. He snatched a pen and shoved it into her trembling hand.

“Sign it,” he hissed.

“Julian, stop, I feel—"

“Sign it!”

When she didn't move, Julian reached around her. He wrapped his large, powerful hand over hers, crushing her fingers against the barrel of the pen. She tried to pull away, but he was a wall of focused aggression.

“If you won't do it willingly, I'll do it for you,” he muttered, his breath hot against her ear.

With brutal force, he guided her hand toward the signature line. 

Though she shook violently, his grip steadied her with a crushing squeeze. He forced the nib across the paper in a distorted imitation of her signature.

The ink bled into the paper, final and black.

“There,” Julian said, releasing her so suddenly the chair nearly tipped. He snatched the paper, blowing on the ink to dry it. “It’s over. You’re officially nothing to me.”

He turned to Claire, his expression softening into a doting smile. 

“See, darling? I told you I’d take care of it. Let’s go. This room smells like failure.”

Claire offered a small, secretive curve of the lips as she glanced at the broken woman in the chair. 

“Whatever you say, Jules.”

They walked out together, Julian’s arm draped around Claire’s waist.

Evelyn was left shivering in her wet clothes. 

The mark on her throat darkened as her hand throbbed from the forced end of her marriage. 

Five years of begging for scraps of love, and she had stayed until he literally drenched her in ice water to make her leave.

She wasn't a woman anymore. She was a ghost who had mistaken a gilded cage for a home.