Chapter 9: Breaking Point II

Aria’s POV

The alarm went off at 6:30 AM. I reached over and silenced it, then stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

Last night felt like a fever dream. I got up and walked to the bathroom. 

The shower was hot enough to turn my skin pink. I washed my hair, conditioned it, then stood under the water until my breathing felt more steady.

When I got out, I pulled my hair straight with the flat iron Jason had bought me six months into our marriage. 

“Your natural hair is beautiful,” he’d said, “but this looks more polished for events.” I’d started straightening it every day after that.

The navy dress hung in the closet where I’d left it. Simple, modest, the kind Jason nodded at approvingly when I wore it. 

I put it on and checked my reflection. I had minimal markup and a small pearl earrings.

By the time I walked into the kitchen, it was 6:55. I poured myself coffee and sat at the breakfast table with my phone, scrolling through emails I’d already read.

At exactly 7:00, Jason’s bedroom door opened. I heard his footsteps in the hallway. He appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing a charcoal suit, his hair still damp from the shower.

He stopped when he saw me.I didn’t look up.

“Good morning,” he said. There was a question in his voice.

“Morning.” I kept my eyes on my phone.

He walked to the coffee maker. The sound of liquid pouring into his cup filled the silence. I could feel him watching me, waiting for something.I gave him nothing.

“We need to discuss last night,” he finally said.

I took a sip of coffee. “Do we?”

“Aria.”

“I’m here.” I looked up at him. My face was blank, empty. “ what else do you want?”

His jaw tightened. “Your behavior at the restaurant was unacceptable.”

“Noted.”

He set his coffee cup down harder than necessary. “What are you doing?”

“Having breakfast.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I finally met his eyes. “You wanted me to stay for eight months. I’m staying. What else should I be doing that I’m not mr jason.”

“This isn’t…” He stopped himself, clearly frustrated. “You’re being childish.”

“I’m being obedient. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He studied me for a long moment, like he was trying to solve an equation that wasn’t adding up.

“I have meetings all day,” he said finally. “I’ll be back around eight.”

“Okay.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

I sat at the breakfast table for another ten minutes, sipping my coffee, listening to the silence. The penthouse felt different in the daylight. Colder. Like a museum instead of a home.

At 7:30, I stood and walked down the hallway to Jason’s study.

The door was closed. It was always closed. In two years of marriage, Jason had made it clear that his study was off-limits. 

“I need space to work without interruption,” he’d said once. I’d never questioned it, too afraid of being more of a burden than I already was.

But that Aria was gone. I was done being a stupid obedient wife.I turned the handle, and the door opened.

The study was exactly as I’d imagined…dark wood furniture, leather chairs, walls lined with law books and business publications Jason probably never read. 

His desk was massive, the surface clear except for a laptop and a single pen positioned at a perfect right angle.

I walked to the desk and sat in his chair. It smelled like his cologne, expensive and suffocating.

The laptop was password protected. I didn’t bother trying.

Instead, I opened the desk drawers one by one. The top drawer held pens, paper clips, business cards from people whose names I didn’t recognize. 

The second drawer had files…contracts, legal documents, things I didn’t understand and didn’t care about.

The third drawer stuck when I tried to open it.

I pulled harder. It gave way with a reluctant scrape.

Inside were papers, but not the neat, organized kind from the other drawers. These were crumpled, shoved in hastily like someone had hidden them in a hurry.

I pulled out the first piece of paper.

A hotel receipt. The Grandmont Hotel. The same hotel where Violet’s wedding reception had been held. 

Dated six months ago. Room 847. One night. Charged to Jason’s personal credit card.

My hands were steady as I set it aside and pulled out the next one.

Another receipt. Of different hotels dated to four months ago.

Then another. And another.

Six receipts in total, spanning from eight months ago to three weeks ago. All hotels. All one-night stays. All on nights when Jason had texted me about late meetings or early morning conferences.

Beneath the receipts were text message printouts. I recognized Violet’s number from the phone bills I’d found weeks ago.

“Tonight at 9?”

“Same place as last time.”

“I miss you.”

“Thank you for understanding. I can’t talk about her with anyone else.”

The messages were careful, vague enough to be explained away as grief counseling. But paired with the hotel receipts, they told a different story.

I kept digging.

Credit card statements showing charges at jewelry stores. A receipt for a necklace…$15,000…purchased two months ago. 

I’d never received a necklace from Jason. He’d given me exactly three pieces of jewelry in two years: my engagement ring, my wedding band, and the pearl earrings I was wearing right now.

So who got the necklace?

At the bottom of the drawer was a photo, printed on regular copy paper like someone had done it at home. Jason and Violet at a restaurant I didn’t recognize. 

She was wearing a necklace. I pulled out the jewelry receipt and compared the date.

They matched.

I sat back in Jason’s chair, surrounded by evidence of an affair he’d sworn didn’t exist. Evidence he’d called me paranoid for suspecting. Evidence he’d threatened me over when I tried to leave.