Chapter 5

Meritt’s POV

"Why didn't you come home?"

His voice wasn't raised. It was that same smooth and calm voice, but with a heavy sigh of disappointment, as if he had just caught a disobedient child skipping school.

I stopped by the corner and he was leaning against his Maybach, his dark eyes fixed on me. He pushed himself off the car and closed the distance between us, his gaze looking up to the doors of the recording studio.

"And what exactly are you doing walking out of a place like this?" he demanded softly.

"I was just passing by," I lied, my voice flat as I looked away. "I wanted to take a look."

He didn't press the issue. To him, my ambitions were dead anyway. Instead, before I could react, he reached out and took my phone right out of my hand. He tapped the screen, scrolling through the ignored notifications.

His jaw tightened and he stared at me with disappointment.

"You ignored all my calls. You didn't answer a single text." He looked down at me, his brow furrowed in that perfect and fake gentle way. "You are usually so understanding, Meritt. Why are you being so difficult this time?"

Understanding. Why wouldn't I be understanding when you broke every part of me. I scoffed and looked right into his eyes.

"Difficult?" I shot back, a dry laugh escaping my throat. "Is that what you call it? Should I have been understanding and stayed in that room? Should I have poured them more drinks while they called me a monster?"

Michael sighed, shaking his head gently.

"Meritt, we've talked about this. I can't control what other people say."

I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms.

"Maybe you can't," I said, staring right into his cold eyes. "But you could have stopped them. They are your friends. But instead of defending your wife, you held Stella in your arms and laughed right along with them."

His expression changed immediately and the gentle mask almost slipped.

"Don't talk about Stella that way," he warned, his voice firm with rage he couldn't hide properly. "She had nothing to do with what happened. Don't drag her into this, it will ruin her reputation."

Oh! Her reputation. What about mine? He couldn't care less.

I froze. The morning sun heavy on my back, but I felt like I had just been thrown into cold water.

It will ruin her reputation. Of course it will.

My face was ruined, my pride was shattered, and my heart was bleeding out on the floor, but all he cared about was protecting Stella's image.

In that second, a much needed clarity washed over me. I wasn't even a person to him. I was just a debt. Stella was the only person he ever truly cared about.

Suddenly, Michael's face softened again and he slipped the phone back into my pocket and reached out, his long fingers gently straightening my coat.

"Look, I'll let it slide," he murmured, his tone swiftly changing back to the perfect gentleman. "I won't hold your little stunt of running away against you. You must be hungry. Come on, I'm taking you to eat your favorite food."

He gripped my wrist. It wasn't a suggestion, it was a command wrapped in the form of a plea. I couldn't resist as he practically pulled me into the passenger seat of the Maybach.

I didn't fight him. That was fine. I had something to say to him anyway, and sitting across a table from him would give me the perfect opportunity.

Twenty minutes later, we were seated in a private corner at an expensive and well secured restaurant. I stared at the white tablecloth, trying to remember the last time we had actually eaten out together.

And there was nothing. He never brought me to places like this. He was always too terrified of running into someone from his elite circle and having to explain the monstrous woman sitting across from him.

The waiter arrived, and Michael didn't even hand me a menu. He ordered a lot of dishes. Shellfish soup, lobster, and a big plate of garlic butter shrimp.

I stared at the food as the waiter set it down. Shellfish. I was severely allergic to shellfish. It would make my throat close up in minutes.

"Eat up," Michael said, wearing a warm, handsome smile. "All your favorites."

He didn't even know. After six years of marriage, he didn't know the most basic fact about my survival. He had just ordered all of his own favorites, or perhaps, the favorites of the woman who used to sit across from him years ago.

I pushed the plate away and looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing but disappointment, before I finally let the words out.

"I want a divorce."

Michael paused, coughing gently and picked up a wet towel, wiped his fingers, and picked up a large shrimp. He didn't look angry, rather, he looked amused, like he was dealing with a child throwing a tantrum.

"Stop talking nonsense, you see, when you're hungry you don't think straight. Come on, eat up," he scolded gently, his hands expertly peeling the shell off the shrimp. "You're still just angry about last night. Be reasonable, Meritt. How would you even survive without me?"

He placed the freshly peeled shrimp right onto my plate. A piece of poison, served with the utmost care.

"Stop making a scene," he continued, leaning back in his chair. "I canceled three very important board meetings just to come find you and be with you today. And as for Stella, she is our friend. She feels terrible about last night and actually wants to be close to you. You need to learn how to let things go."

I was left in complete disbelief. The subtle manipulative arrogance of this man was overwhelming.

Seeing my expression, his eyes glowed with genuine annoyance, but he quickly forced it down, softening his voice again.

"Just eat, Meritt."

"Oh! What a coincidence!"

A sweet feminine voice echoed behind us.

I didn't even need to turn around. My stomach instantly rumbled in rage.

Stella walked in from the entrance, her heels clicking graciously against the floor. She practically walked over to our table, her eyes beaming as she looked at the feast before us.

"These are all my favorites!" She gasped, clapping her hands together. She didn't wait for an invitation, instantly sliding into the chair right next to Michael. "You don't mind if I join you two, do you? I'm farmished."

Michael didn't look surprised, he didn't look annoyed, he just looked at her.

"Of course not," he said, his voice carrying genuine warmth that he had completely withheld from me for the last twenty minutes.

Stella giggled, picking up a fork. Then, she shifted purposely in her seat, looking up at Michael.

"By the way, does my dress look nice? I just got it."

Michael swooned over her like he wanted to literally eat her at the spot.

"It looks perfect on you."

"It's my favorite brand," she beamed. "But you already know that. You've always had such great taste."

I looked at the dress and the little at left in lungs rushed out as I exhaled in shock.

It was a stunning, backless gown, the exact same dress, the exact same brand, and the exact same cut as the one currently hanging in my closet.

The one he had given me in that box for our anniversary just two nights ago.

My heart twisted in my chest with agonizing pain.

I finally understood. The endless wardrobe of designer clothes I could never wear, the styles that never suited me, the colors that didn't fit with my scarred skin... none of it had ever been for me.

For six years, he had been buying clothes for Stella's ghost, projecting the woman he truly loved onto the monster of his wife.

I sat there, completely invisible, watching my husband and the woman he loved playfully argue over the last shrimp.

The shameless flirting, the shared glances, the intimate history flowing between them, it was painful and made me sick.

The smell of the garlic shrimp mixed with the heavy perfume Stella was wearing made my stomach churn violently.

I abruptly stood up, the legs of my chair scratching harshly against the floor. Michael frowned, looking up at me.

“Where are you going?"

"Restroom," I choked out, not waiting for a response.

I ran through the restaurant, pushing through the doors of the ladies room amd grabbed the sink, my head aching as I took deep breaths, trying to force the pain back down.

I turned on the cold water and let it run over my trembling hands. I was done. I was going to walk out the back door of this restaurant, call my lawyer, and end this nightmare today.

"Meritt?"

I froze. Over the sound of the running water, a voice had just called my name. But it wasn't Stella's voice.

I slowly lifted my head, my eyes locking onto the reflection in the mirror behind me.