Chapter 2

Merritt's POV

I watched the video again, my eyes glued to his hand.

The glass glowed gently as the club light stuck to it. Whiskey.

For six long years, he remained disciplined. He hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol since the fire, the fire he barely escaped because he was too drunk to stand. I had always thought his sobriety was a tribute to what I lost that night. A sacrifice out of respect for my ruined face.

But watching the video play over and over again, the truth just mocked me in the most painful way possible. He was laughing so loud and unhinged. He never laughed that way when he was with me.

He leaned down, mouthing a sweet, childhood nickname I couldn't hear because of the heavy music.

I thought he was naturally stoic, but the hard truth was staring me in the face. He just didn't love me enough to give me his fire. I only got the ashes.

"Ma'am?"

The housekeeper’s voice startled me. I turned off the phone screen, looking up as she stood by the door of the dining room.

"What would you like for dinner tonight?" she asked.

I opened my mouth to give my usual answer, “make whatever he likes,” but she didn't let me finish.

"Sir called," she added quickly, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "He won't be home for dinner."

I slowly closed my mouth and nodded.

"I know."

I had already seen Stella's latest social media update. It was a photo of their group, all holding glasses and her arm wrapped around Micheal.

“Catching up with my favorite person tonight,” was her caption.

In the past, a day like this would mean hours locked in my music room, doing vocal warm ups, singing just to fill the agonizing silence while I waited for a husband who was never truly mine. But today felt entirely different. The air in my lungs didn't feel so heavy, more like I felt free.

I looked up the email from the Teatro di Roma and began to type. I didn't just confirm my acceptance of the vocal coaching position, I confirmed the schedule for my preliminary demo recording.

Hitting “Send” felt like releasing a heavy breath I had been holding for six years. The countdown was real now.

By evening, I changed into a simple coat and a cowboy hat, letting my hair fall loose and hide the left side of my face. When I came downstairs, the housekeeper looked surprised.

"Are you heading out, ma'am?"

"Meeting some friends," I lied smoothly. But I was heading to a local studio to record the demo track the Italian theater requested.

When I was halfway across town, I stopped at a red light, and my gaze caught something outside the window.

My breath hitched at once. God! No!

Parked outside an exclusive restaurant was his black Maybach.

"Pull over," I told the driver immediately, my voice firm.

I didn't know what possessed me. Maybe it was the ghosts of my past six years demanding closure. Maybe I just needed to see them together with my own eyes to finally kill whatever pathetic hope was left in my heart.

I walked into the restaurant, keeping my head down, my hair acting as my shield. The staff didn't stop me as I passed through the dark corridors toward the private VIP rooms.

I didn't have to search for them, I heard them before I saw them.

The door to their private suite was slightly open, and the light from the chandelier escaped to the hallway, alongside the loud cheers and clinking of glasses.

"I swear, normally we can't drag this guy out for anything," one of his friends screamed, laughing. "But the second our little Stella is back in town, he drops his billion dollar meetings just to show up!"

Wow, wonderful!

Through the small opening, I saw her. Stella. She was sitting close to him, looking like an angel. Everyone at school knew she was the beloved heiress, the youngest of their elite circle, admired by every wealthy heir in the room. Especially him.

"You guys are terrible," Stella said, her voice laced with innocence. She turned to my husband, batting her lashes at him. "You've been with me all day. Isn't your wife going to be upset?"

The table erupted in laughter at once like it was so funny.

"His wife?" one of the friends sneered. "With a face like hers, she wouldn't dare complain. She's lucky he even lets her sleep under his roof."

Stella’s eyes widened.

“What happened to her face?"

"Burns," another friend quickly replied, his voice heavy with fake pity. "It's tragic, really. She’s nowhere near good enough to stand beside him. Hell, he even said it himself once, her face isn't exactly fit for public view."

I froze at once as the words ate at me.

Not fit for public view.

A bitter smile crossed my lips. So that was it. After six years of marriage, no social events, no galas, no dinner parties. I thought he was protecting me from the stares. But he was protecting his own image from the monster he was stuck with.

"Then why did you even marry her?" Stella asked softly, looking up at him with those perfect eyes.

The room went quiet. I held my breath, waiting for the man I loved to say something. Anything. To defend the woman who took the flames for him.

He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his face cruel.

"She saved my life," his warm voice echoed through the room, completely devoid of emotion. "I owe her. That's all."

"Bro, you can pay a debt without ruining your own life," his friend scoffed loudly. "Just throw the woman a few extra million. Why keep her locked in your house? You have to stare at that disgusting face every single day. I'd lose my appetite."

Stella gasped, covering her mouth.

“Is it really that bad?"

"Bad?" The friend jumped up from his chair with a smirk on his face.

He gently slapped his hand on the left side of his face. I knew exactly what he wanted to do. And he set his shoulders back, mimicking how I was when I came out of the flame. Thereafter, he stared at them one last time and mimicked my voice from the hospital that day.

"Oh God, no! Don't look at me! I'm a monster! Don't look at me!"

The room erupted into laughter and the sound pounded heavily in my ears. Their laughter slowly grew silent in my ears as I drowned in the sound of my racing heart and the loud sound of the flames that destroyed my life.

I didn't cry, I couldn't. The tears were completely gone. All that was left was absolute rage.

I raised my hand, placed it against the door, allowing it to feel the heat burning inside me and pushed it open.