Masuk
Chapter 1
Lillian heard the front door open and felt her shoulders relax for the first time all day. She was not sure what made her do it.Maybe it was the strange feeling she had carried all day, that quiet anxiety in her chest that told her something bad was about to happen.
She had spent the entire afternoon cooking jollof rice and grilled chicken, Nathaniel’s favourite. She had also cleaned the house from top to bottom, ironed his shirts, and left his evening clothes folded neatly on the bed. The same routine she had kept for three years.
She and Nathaniel had met when she was thirteen and he was sixteen. He was the son of William Brooks, her father’s closest business associate.
Back then, Nathaniel barely acknowledged her. But Lillian had fallen for him completely. She had carried that feeling all through her teenage years.
When their fathers sat them both down at twenty and twenty-three and proposed the marriage arrangement, Nathaniel had agreed without much expression.
His father wanted the union. William Brooks believed a stable marriage would ground Nathaniel before he took over the Brooks Group of Companies. Nathaniel was already being groomed as CEO and sole heir to everything his father had built. The marriage was part of the plan.
Lillian had agreed for an entirely different reason. She had simply loved him. She dropped out of nursing school in her second year to be his wife and take care of him.
She heard his footsteps and she turned from the table with a small smile on her face.
“Nathaniel,” she called out. “You’re just in time. I made—”
She stopped when he appeared in the doorway. He was in his work clothes. Dark trousers, a white shirt, and his jacket folded over one arm. He looked exactly the same as he did every evening. Handsome in the way that had first made her heart race when she was a teenager. But his face was different tonight.
He was not alone. An older man she did not know followed two steps behind him, carrying a briefcase.
“Who is that?” Lillian asked.
Nathaniel did not answer her right away. He set his jacket down on the chair and looked at her with an expression she could not read.
“Sit down, Lillian,” he said.
“I asked you who that is.”
“His name is Mr. Briggs,” Nathaniel said. “He is a lawyer.”
She looked at the man called Mr. Briggs, then back at Nathaniel. “Why is there a lawyer in our house?”
Nathaniel stepped fully into the dining room. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded envelope. He set it on the table in front of her.
“What is that?” she asked, even though part of her already knew.
“Read it,” he said.
She did not move. “Nathaniel. Tell me what that is.” she insisted.
“Divorce papers,” he said simply.
The word broke her heart into several pieces. She stood very still. The dining room felt like it had shifted slightly, like the floor had moved an inch to the left and everything was slightly wrong now.
“You are joking, right?” she said.
“Do I look like I'm joking,” he said.
She looked at his face carefully, searching for some sign that this was some kind of prank but sadly she found nothing.
“Nathaniel.” Her voice dropped. “We can talk about this. Whatever I did or whatever happened between us, we can—”
“There is nothing to talk about,” he said.
“There is always something to talk about.” She stepped closer to him. “We have been married for three years. You do not end that with an envelope.”
He stepped back slightly. “You will have the estate and a monthly allowance if you sign the papers.”
“I do not care about the estate,” she said. Her voice was rising now and she could not stop it. “I care about us. I care about this marriage. Do you not care about any of it?”
He straightened up. “I am not in love with you, Lillian. I was never in love with you. The only reason we got married was because of the contract agreement between our parents.”
Lilian had always known he didn't love her. His heart belonged to another woman.
She had caught him with Vanessa Clarke eight months into their marriage. She had come home early from visiting her mother and found Vanessa’s heels at the foot of their staircase.
She had stood outside their bedroom door and listened and then walked downstairs and sat in the kitchen until Vanessa left.
When she finally confronted Nathaniel about it, he looked at her with complete calm and said, “Say another word and I will file for divorce tomorrow.”
She had said nothing. She had swallowed it whole and told herself he would change. Although Vanessa was not the only lady. There had been others. But Vanessa was the one who kept coming back.
Lillian heard herself breathe. She heard the faint sound of the city outside, distant and indifferent.
“Mr. Briggs,” she said, looking at the lawyer who had stood silently by the wall the entire time. “You can leave now.”
The man glanced at Nathaniel, who gave a small nod. Mr. Briggs collected his briefcase and walked out of the dining room without a word.
When they were alone, Lillian looked at Nathaniel one more time. “Nathaniel please,” she said and her voice broke on his name.
She crossed the dining room toward him and dropped to her knees right there on the cold marble floor, her hands grabbing the hem of his trousers.
“Please. Just give me a chance. Give us a chance. I will do whatever you want. I will change whatever you need me to change. Just don’t do this.”
He looked down at her on the floor at his feet, and his expression did not change.
He simply stepped forward and walked right past her like she was not there. “Sign the papers,” he said from the doorway. “I’m getting married to Vanessa Clarke next week.”
The words did not just break something in her. They erased it completely.
She heard his footsteps move through the hallway. She heard the front door open and close behind him.
Then slowly, without meaning to, she sank down onto the cold marble floor.
Lillian Carter hurried straight to the foundation. As the taxi came to a halt, her eyes caught two people live streaming, passionately discussing the city’s women.The moment they saw Lillian stepping out in scrubs, the chat exploded into chaos.“Whoa! That's Lillian Harper!! Am I seeing things?”"No way, it’s real! There are only two in all of Los Angeles—the other belongs to some mysterious billionaire, and I hear the one who brought it was a rich stranger!"“She’s, the one divorced by her husband, the one who put Patricia Brooks behind bars.”“Yeah, I saw that… It was trending not long ago. Wasn’t it some big shot? The Elite and their secrets,” another commentator added.“Streamer, get closer! Ask her something!”As Lillian made her way to the foundation office, the chat went into overdrive.The three streamers stared in disbelief, stunned that they were staring directly at Lillian.“What? Rich people dress down? Look at her in those scrubs. Is she even the right person, or just on
Lillian's phone buzzed on her kitchen counter.It was not a text. It was a photo. Then another. Then another. Twelve in a row.Nathaniel's love letters. But Lillian didn't open it, she hurried straight in scrubs to the cab waiting for her.She was headed to Arthur's Vance estate. As they reached the gate in the blistering rain. The driver honked but no response till two burly men walked, the mansion security detail. One of knocks at the window while Lillian's phone kept ringing Arthur Vance but he didn't pick. “This is private property, you need to leave.” One of them said. Fisting angrily at the vehicle.The other pulls out a radio communicating with someone over the phone. Examining the vehicle like a decoy as they circle round. “I'm Lillian Brooks, I'm here to see Arthur Vance.” She yelled her voice cutting throw the noisy droplet and thunderstorm. Lillian steps in the cold rain, like a woman crazy sending them off the Cab.She stood drenched in the rain, insisting they let her
One day left.One day left on the twelve-month clause that said if Lillian divorced in twelve months, she gets controlling shares. One day left before she could file for divorce and keep 50% or not file and keep 50% anyway because she filed the deed at 11:47 p.m. One day left before she had to decide if she wanted to be Mrs. Brooks or just Lillian Harper, nurse, who happens to own half a company and happens to be married to a man who is learning how to live inside a fortress.One day left and three white bottles on her sill that said For Lillian and For Gerald and For the next one.One day left and ten letters, two lockets, three diaries, three plants, one toolbox with empty bottom compartments, one briefcase full of security footage, one adoption papers, one torn page 48, one succulent that survives even if you forget it.One day left and a photo of herself being watched through her own window at 3:08 a.m. by someone who wrote You have one day left. Decide. Or I decide for you. - P.
The tenth letter was from Victoria.Not William. Victoria.Lillian opened it at 3:07 a.m., sitting on her apartment floor, surrounded by soil from three plants that survive even if you forget them, even if someone overturns them, hugging Vanessa, with Nathaniel replanting, with Victoria shouting from the street.Inside, in Victoria's neat, ruthless handwriting:Lillian, You have to decide tonight. Not tomorrow. Tonight. Because tomorrow the clause expires and you have to file or not file divorce and keep 50% or not keep 50% and be Mrs. Brooks or just Lillian Harper, nurse. You have to decide what kind of powerful woman you want to be. Not the kind who takes $50,000 and thanks for service. Not the kind who takes 50% and thanks for service. The kind who decides, not because a clause says so, not because a deed says so, not because a mother forced a father, not because a lawyer added a line, but because she wants to. So decide. Tonight. And whatever you decide, I will file it. For free.
Lillian ran to her third-floor apartment at 2:17 a.m., alone, because she had learned not to come alone to the Brooks estate, but she had not learned not to come alone to her own apartment about freedom.The front door was open, just like in the photo. The three plants overturned on the floor, soil spilled, one expensive green one, two small succulents that survive if you forget them, now not surviving.And written on her living room wall in red lipstick, in her own handwriting from three years ago, and William's shaky handwriting underneath:IF YOU ARE READING THIS, SOMEONE DID NOT WANT THE WILL TO BE READ. TRUST NO ONE. - L.H.You were right, Lillian. Someone didn't want the will to be read. It was me. I didn't want you to read it because I knew you would become more powerful than any of us. And you have. - W.Lillian stared at her own handwriting on her own wall, in her own apartment about freedom, and felt the floor shift again, just like that first night with divorce papers on a
There was no ninth letter.Victoria said there was no ninth letter. Gerald said there was no ninth letter. William only wrote eight. The white bottles were the last secret. The rest they have to write themselves. Without $50,000 and thanks for service.But Lillian found a ninth envelope anyway.It was taped under William's desk, where Patricia's shotgun once rested, where James's toolbox once sat, where Grace's adoption papers were stolen, where Eleanor's diary was hidden.Cream envelope, single initial: L. Again. Same as the eighth. Same handwriting. But fresher ink. Not shaky. Neat.Lillian opened it at 2 a.m., alone in William's study, while everyone else slept on cold marble or on couches or in police cars, while Nathaniel slept on Margaret's couch holding soup, while Grace slept in Lillian's old apartment with three plants, while James slept with his empty toolbox, while Vanessa slept in stained scrubs holding a briefcase.Inside was not a letter from William.Inside was a letter







