I stood in shock, staring down at the papers scattered across the floor. Divorce papers, with Nathan's signature already scribbled on the line. He couldn't even look me in the eye as he uttered those heartless words. "You should start packing. Only take what you came with."
The pounding of my heart drowned out all other sounds. This couldn't be real, it had to be some twisted joke. I searched Nathan's face pleadingly, hoping to find even a hint of remorse or regret. But his eyes remained cold and distant.
"Nathan, please...we can talk about this. What happened to make you want this so suddenly?" My voice cracked with emotion. Three years of marriage, three years of giving everything to this man, and his lavish lifestyle, meant nothing to him now.
He sighed in annoyance. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Agatha. It's over. I've already filed the paperwork. Now just pack your things and go."
White-hot anger swirled within me now, battling with the remnants of grief and disbelief. How dare he dismiss me so callously, after all I'd sacrificed? No husband should treat his wife this way. But I knew any protests would fall on deaf ears. This was clearly what Nathan wanted, and nothing I said could sway him.
I scrambled to collect the papers from the floor with trembling hands, clutching them to my chest as though they could be ripped away at any moment. Part of me still hoped this was some cruel joke that would be revealed as untrue. But the impatience in Nathan's eyes told me otherwise. Without another word, I fled to our bedroom - no, his bedroom now - clasping back sobs that threatened to overtake me.
The room was suffocatingly silent as I numbly began removing my belongings from the walk-in closet and dresser. Each article of clothing held memories - our wedding, parties, and galas where I stood proudly by Nathan's side. I wondered idly what sins I'd committed to deserve such a fate. Had I not catered to Nathan's every want and need faithfully these past years?
As I collected the last of my modest wardrobe, my gaze drifted to a framed photo on the nightstand. Nathan and I on our wedding day, beaming with youthful optimism for our future together. I stared at Nathan's face, full of love and promise. Who was this stranger who now resided in his skin, this cold and heartless imitation of the man I once knew?
Rage bubbled up inside me then, scalding away the remnants of sadness. How dare he treat me, his wife, with such disrespect and cruelty? I was no timid mouse to be cast aside so easily. With a feral cry, I snatched up the photo and hurled it against the wall, relishing the shatter of glass. Let Nathan clean up this mess he'd created.
As I raced back downstairs with my suitcase in tow, my anger still fiercely bubbling, I heard the murmur of voices coming from the parlor. Had Nathan not told his family of his sudden decision to end our marriage? I slowed my pace, not wanting to face more judgment, as I drew closer to the open doorway.
That's when I saw her. Nathan's mother, Josephine, sat regally on the couch sipping tea. I had never gotten along with the cold, calculating woman. But what made my stomach drop was the petite blonde seated beside her. The girl couldn't have been more than 20, practically a child, smiling and nodding along to whatever Josephine was saying.
Her hands fluttered over her tiny stomach as she laughed, a melodic, tinkling sound that echoed in my mind. That's when I realized with dawning horror - this wisp of a girl was Nathan's mistress. My fingers tightened on the suitcase handle until my knuckles turned white.
Josephine glanced up then, catching my stunned gaze with chilling amusement in her eyes. "Ah, Aggie dear. We were just discussing how pleased Nathan is to be rid of you and your barren womb. This lovely Camille will give him an heir, as a proper wife should."
Camille beamed up at Josephine adoringly as my world spun out of focus. So this was how Nathan planned to replace me - with a plaything young enough to be his daughter.
I glanced down at my long limbs and angled features, feeling a fresh wave of inadequacy. How could I ever hope to compete with such delicate, doll-like beauty?
"Such a shame you could never provide a true legacy," Josephine sneered. "But Nathan has ensured the Richards line will continue, regardless of your shortcomings. I'm sure you understand as you pack your meager things and slink off elsewhere."
That final barb was too much. Clutching my suitcase, I fled their cackling laughter, feeling lower than I ever had. Nathan truly meant to erase every trace of our life together - and replace me with a shiny new version untouched by the passage of time. The bile rose in my throat at the thought.
As I left my suitcase at the door waiting for the taxi I ordered, I heard Nathan's footsteps approaching behind me. I steeled myself and turned to face him, keeping my expression stoic though turmoil raged within.
"Agatha, wait," he said, running a hand through his hair. Some of the arrogance had slipped from his stance, replaced by an awkward unease I'd never seen him wear before.
"Come to make some hollow apologies?" I asked coldly. "Save your breath, Nathan, I have no interest in anything more you have to say."
He sighed. "I only wanted to explain. You have to understand, that I've been seeing Camille for months now. She's carrying my child - my heir. As God’s will, I must provide for them."
A hollow laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “God's will? Don't insult me further by using religion as an excuse, Nathan, we both know how little stock you place in the lord. This is about power and legacy, nothing more."
His eyes flashed in annoyance. "Must you truly be so disagreeable? I'm trying to do right by my family. Unlike you, Camille is young and able -"
"Able to pop out babies like the broodmare you see her as you mean?" I interrupted scathingly. "Spare me your excuses. We both know our marriage was never about love or partnership."
Nathan fell silent, for once at a loss for words. I sighed wearily. "You're right, we've been drifting for some time. But don't pretend this is some noble quest of fatherly duty. I saw how you looked at her, Nathan - like a prized new possession. She's a toy to stroke your ego."
He ran both hands through his perfect hair, a gesture of rare frustration. "What do you want from me, Agatha? An apology? I won't give you one. Our marriage was a mistake from the start."
His words struck like physical blows, reopening old wounds. I turned away to hide the tears pricking my eyes, willing myself to stay strong. After a long moment, I faced him once more with a steely calm.
"You're right, Nathan. An apology means nothing at this point. All I want now is what is legally mine - and then you'll never have to see me again."
My icy tone gave him pause. Good - let him feel unsettled for once. I had given this man my youth; the least he owed me was a fair settlement. This was far from over.
Agatha POV:The applause thundered, a wave of sound washing over me as I stepped back from the podium.The weight of the "Innovator of the Year" award felt solid, cool in my hands.From the stage of the grand ballroom, the sea of faces blurred slightly – industry leaders, tech journalists, NexGen employees, their expressions a mixture of respect and admiration.My gaze found my family in the front row.Dad, his eyes shining with a pride that made my own throat tighten, sat beside Lena, who was beaming, dabbing at her eyes with a discreet tissue.Isabella, a miniature vision in a velvet dress, clapped enthusiastically, her gap-toothed grin infectious.&
News Report Snippet – Financial Times Online, October 17th, Three Years Later“NEXGEN SHINES: DE ROSSI AT THE HELM, CAMPBELL STRATEGIES PAY OFF. Three years after the tumultuous period that saw NexGen teeter on the brink, the tech giant has not only stabilized but thrived under the leadership of CEO Agatha Campbell-De Rossi. Analysts credit her sharp business acumen, inherited from her father, the legendary Aldo De Rossi (now retired but serving in an advisory capacity), and a series of bold, strategic partnerships, many reportedly influenced by her husband, Charles Campbell, CSO of Campbell Enterprises. The successful integration of Campbell’s security and logistics expertise with NexGen’s innovative tech has created a formidable market force. This success comes as a welcome contrast to the recent downfall of rival Xing Enterprises, whose enigmatic former head, James Wei, currently faces a barrage of international fraud and market manipulation charges f
Agatha POV:The scent of flowers, mixed with the faint, lingering aroma of expensive perfume and old wood, filled the air.It was… beautiful. Surprisingly beautiful.Not the grand, ostentatious affair Charles’s stepmother had initially envisioned, nor the sterile, contractual signing I had secretly feared. Charles, in a rare moment of concession, had agreed to my request for something smaller, more intimate. Just family and our closest friends.Lena stood beside me, radiant in a chic emerald green dress, her eyes suspiciously bright. "You look stunning, Aggie," she whispered, squeezing my arm. "Absolutely breathtaking."I managed a smile, touching the delicate lace of my ivory gown. It wasn't a traditional wedding dress –
Agatha POV:The scent of antiseptic and starched linen still clung to Charles’s private hospital room, but it was less oppressive today.Sunlight streamed through the large window, illuminating the tastefully understated floral arrangement I’d sent yesterday – pale yellow roses, a deliberate departure from the pink ones he favored, a subtle assertion of… something. Independence, maybe. Or just a different mood.Charles was propped up against a mountain of pillows, looking remarkably well, considering he’d been discharged only a week ago after the hit-and-run.The bruises on his face had faded to a sickly yellow-green, the cut above his eyebrow was healing neatly, and his arm, though still in a sling, seemed to bother him less.
Agatha POV:The clanging of steel doors, the echoing footsteps on concrete floors, the hushed, desperate whispers of other visitors – the sounds of the correctional facility were a jarring assault on my senses.Each hallway felt colder, greyer, more oppressive than the last.This was a world away from the hushed luxury of my father’s mansion, from the sleek modernity of Charles’s penthouse, from the bustling efficiency of NexGen. This was a world of consequences.My hands trembled slightly as I followed the uniformed guard down a long, sterile corridor. I clutched my purse tighter, the contents – a few carefully chosen photos of Sophie, Camille had reluctantly provided after much persuasion from Lena – feeling like a fragile offering, a tiny beacon of
Agatha POV:"Are you sure you want to sell the mansion, Dad? You built it for Mom." I traced the rim of my teacup, the delicate porcelain cool against my fingertips.Dad sighed, setting down his own cup with a faint clink. He looked better, much better. The weeks since the attack, since Charles’s hospitalization and slow, frustrating recovery, had been a blur of stress and uncertainty, but seeing Dad regain his strength, his old spark, had been a steadying anchor."Yes, I know, dear," he said, his voice still a little raspy, but firm."But after what happened here… I don’t want to hold onto these bad memories. This house… it feels tainted now." His gaze swept the opulent room, a flicker of sadness in his eyes.