Chapter 3

Dana POV: Dana Leaves 

I stare up at the towering glass facade of the penthouse, the place that's been my home, our home, for two years. The document I just signed says: immediate eviction. No grace period, no second chances. My hands tremble as I clutch the strap of my handbag. I try to catch my breath, to swallow the sobs clawing up my throat, but the ache in my chest is a living thing that keeps twisting and tearing through me. But I must stop crying. I have to be strong. But how? How do I walk away from everything?

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and I step inside, pressing the button for the top floor. As the car ascends, the weight of it all crashes down on me and my knees buckle. I collapse against the mirrored wall, sliding to the floor. Sobs rack my body, ugly and uncontrolled. I should never have fallen in love with Alex. I should have kept my guard up, resisted the pull of his touch, his whispered promises in the dark. But I couldn't help it anymore. After months of pretending, of keeping it professional, I let myself believe he felt the same. That that one night tangled in sheets meant something real. God, what a fool I've been.

The doors open to the familiar marble foyer, and I stumble out, wiping my face on my sleeve. The apartment smells like dinner—Maria's doing, always keeping it perfect. And there she is, the kind-hearted housekeeper who's become more like a friend, a surrogate mother these past months. Her eyes widen at the sight of my puffy eyes and shattered walk.

"Ma’am Dana? Mi Dios, what happened? Are you hurt?" She rushes over, her apron dusted with flour from whatever she's baking.

I shake my head, words failing me. The pain is too great and too deep. I brush past her gently and head to the bedroom, the room where Alex and I shared so many nights playfighting and cuddling after the first month of our contract marriage. I can still feel him—his scent on the pillows, his warmth in the air. It's like he's inside me, in my blood, my soul, refusing to let go.

Maria follows me, her footsteps insistent. "Ma’am, please, talk to me. Did something terrible happen? Is it your family?"

I sink onto the edge of the bed, the king-sized haven where we made love two weeks ago. My body feels heavy, powerless. Tears stream down again, and I can't even lift my arms to pack.

"It's okay," I whisper, but it's a lie. Nothing is okay.

"No, it's not." Maria kneels in front of me, her warm hands on my knees. "I'm not watching you cry like this. I'm calling Mr. Alex right now."

"No!" I cry out desperately, meeting her shocked gaze. "Please, Maria. Don't."

She recoils, her own eyes glistening with impending tears. "But why? You're breaking my heart. What if someone died? Your dad? Tell me, niña."

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, forcing air into my lungs. "I'm leaving. That's all."

Her face crumples, but she nods slowly. I find a sliver of strength then, rising to open the walk-in closet. It's a shrine to Alex's generosity: rows of designer dresses that hug my curves just right, stilettos in every color, handbags from Chanel and Gucci, perfumes that cost more than my old rent, jewelry sparkling under the lights—diamond earrings, gold necklaces, watches encrusted with gems. Makeup palettes from high-end brands, lingerie he picked out himself. All of it screams luxury, love, possession. But it was never mine. Not really.

I ignore it all, pulling out the duffel bag I came with. Simple jeans, faded T-shirts, a pair of worn sneakers, a couple of books, my laptop. It barely fills half the bag, but I don't mind. These are me, the real Dana, not the polished version Alex molded.

"Where are you going?" Maria asks me as I head for the doorway. "Did you and Mr. Alex fight?”

My shoulders sag. “Maria—”

“Husbands and wives fight all the time,” she continues earnestly. “My Roberto and I, we yell, we make up. It passes."

I pause, the bag slung over my shoulder. The city skyline mocks me through the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to my heartbreak. "Wait here, Maria. Please don't follow."

Back in the bedroom, I grab a sheet of stationery from the nightstand, Alex's monogrammed paper, of course. My hand shakes as I write:

Alex,

I never expected this to end, but I should have. Thank you for the moments that felt like forever, for making me believe in something beautiful, even if it was just an illusion. I loved you with everything I had—my heart, my body, my soul. But I see now it wasn't enough. Be happy with her. Find the joy we almost had. Goodbye.

Tears smudge the ink, but I fold it and leave it on his pillow, where he'll find it later. Maybe it'll hurt him. Maybe not.

Back in the living room, Maria is wringing her hands, tears tracking down her cheeks. "Is it divorce? Are you separating? You'll come back, right? Please say you'll come back."

"It was never meant to last for us, Maria. Not like this. I won't be back."

She collapses onto the couch, her face crumpling as she groans, a sound of pure anguish that mirrors my own. I want to hug her, but if I do, I'll never leave. So I pick up my bag and slip out the door.

Downstairs, the night is suddenly cold, the streetlights casting long shadows. I realize with a sinking dread that I have no way out. No car of my own because I arrived in a cab two years ago. The Mercedes S-Class Alex gifted me sits in the parking lot, the keys probably already destined for Jodie, his new flame. My checking account has money, but the nearest ATM is miles away, and walking these streets at night feels reckless and dangerous.

I called Derek earlier but he said he might not make it on account of work. Still, I hoped.

And then, headlights appear up the street, and it’s not hope, it is Alex's car pulling up. He parks and steps out with Jodie. He doesn't even glance my way, his laughter mingling with hers as they head inside. The cruelty of it all cuts through me like a knife. How could he discard me so easily, like yesterday's trash? This was always the endgame, wasn't it? A contract wife, a temporary fix until the real one came along. But the betrayal, the indifference and seeing a new girl take my place rips me open anew.

Hot humiliating shame floods me. I can't stand here, exposed. I start walking down the street, the night closing in, my clopping footsteps sounding off my isolation. Tears blur my vision again, sobs hitching in my chest. How did I let myself fall so deep?

A car engine hums towards me. I tense, ready to run, but the door opens, and it's Derek.

"Dana!"

I fall against him, my bag dropping to the pavement. His arms wrap around me, and for the first time tonight, I don’t quite feel alone.

"It's going to be okay," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you."

But as he guides me into the car, I glance back one last time. The penthouse lights glow high above, a world that's no longer mine. And in that moment, the pain pinches tighter, a tidal wave of loss—for the love I gave, the dreams I built, the woman I became. Will it ever stop hurting? I don't know. But for now, I must worry about my family.

Will they take me back?