Chapter 2

Gadreel froze mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing visibly before he slowly turned. His piercing gaze raked over Ivory's petite frame, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

"Excuse me?" The words rumbled low in his chest like distant thunder before a storm.

Ivory stood her ground, spine straight. "I said let's get a divorce." Her voice didn't waver as she met his glare head-on.

For several heartbeats, the only sound was the ticking of the grand clock in the foyer. Then Gadreel's lips twisted in a humorless smirk. "Is this your pathetic attempt at revenge?"

His mocking gaze swept over the untouched birthday feast before returning to her. "Because I missed your little celebration? Or our precious anniversary?" Each word dripped with icy disdain, devoid of even a shred of remorse.

The verbal blows landed like physical strikes, making her chest constrict painfully. Hot tears threatened, but she forced them back with practiced control.

"Revenge?" Ivory let out a brittle laugh. "I'm setting you free. Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

A dangerous shadow crossed his features. She pressed on before she lost her nerve: "Evangeline's back in Paris, isn't she? Why prolong this charade any longer?"

CRACK.

Gadreel's fist slammed into the wall beside her head, the impact vibrating through her body. His eyes burned with glacial fury that would have made a weaker woman crumble.

But Ivory had reached her limit. Years of loving a man who would never love her back had drained her soul dry. She refused to fade away completely.

"So this is really about your jealousy?" Gadreel sneered, completely blind to her inner devastation. "Your insecurity over your own sister?"

His towering frame seemed to absorb all the light in the room, casting shadows that made Ivory instinctively flinch. She willed herself to hold steady, but his proximity was overwhelming—the crisp bergamot scent of his cologne, the way his tailored suit stretched across his shoulders as he caged her between his arms.

When he leaned down, their faces mere inches apart, she hated how her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her ribs while his remained perfectly controlled.

"Pathetic," he hissed, the word laced with venom. "The entire city knew Evangeline and I were destined. You knew it, too."

"Yet you seized your chance like a vulture circling carrion."

His breath fanned across her lips as he spoke, a cruel parody of intimacy.

"And now you dare play the wounded martyr?"

The accusation ignited something primal in her. Years of suppressed fury surged through her veins like wildfire.

She'd been the sacrificial lamb—tending to his broken body while society painted her as the scheming stepsister.

Not a single soul acknowledged her five years of devotion while weeping over Evangeline's "tragic" separation.

A bitter realization struck her: Had Gadreel never awakened, would his precious Evangeline have rushed back to his bedside?

The thought almost made her laugh. What did it matter now? She'd chosen this path like a fool chasing fairy tales. But no more.

"I'm not playing games," she said, matching his glacial tone. Her fingers dug into the table's edge as she tilted her chin up. "I'm folding my hand while I still can."

Gadreel's expression darkened, but for the first time, the storm in his eyes didn't make her flinch.

"I gambled my youth on what I thought was an ace," she continued, lips curling in a mirthless smile. "Turns out I drew the Joker."

His jaw tightened. This wasn't the trembling mouse he'd grown accustomed to.

"Enough riddles," he snapped. "Name your price."

The dismissal in his voice cut deeper than his cruelty. After everything, he still reduced her to a gold-digger, just like the rest of them. She saw it then—the unspoken verdict in his gaze.

To him, she'd always be the uneducated stand-in, barely worthy of the Ødegaar name.

The five years she'd spent changing his bedpans, massaging his atrophied muscles, reading to his unresponsive body—all of it meant less than nothing.

How could she have ever loved this man? The realization burned through her like acid. But it wasn’t too late—she’d carve her freedom from his arrogance yet. If he demanded a reason, she’d give him one he’d never forget.

Ivory’s gaze dropped pointedly to his groin, her lips curling into a razor-edged smile. "No one wants an impotent husband, Gadreel."

The moment the words left her mouth, she shoved against his chest—hard. A thrill shot through her at the flash of shock in his eyes. Let him choke on his own hypocrisy. They’d sent that vile video to torment her; she’d return the favor with interest.

"What?" His hand clamped around her wrist like a steel manacle, his pupils dilating with dangerous intent. "Impotent?"

She twisted against his grip, but he only tightened it, forcing her to meet his searing glare.

"I’m a woman," she hissed. "Five years in a sexless marriage is four years and eleven months too long. Let’s end this farce."

A slow, humorless chuckle rumbled from his chest. Without warning, he seized her chin, dragging her face so close she could count the flecks of gold in his irises.

His thumb brushed her lower lip—testing, probing—as if discovering its existence for the first time.

"So this is your grievance?" His voice dropped to a velvet-rough whisper. "You’re… frustrated?"

The traitorous heat flooding her cheeks infuriated her. Gadreel seemed not to notice, too absorbed in the way her lips yielded under his touch. They were softer than he’d imagined, cool but plush, the kind that begged to be bitten—

No. He shoved the thought aside, his expression hardening.

"I wasn’t aware my wife was so desperate to spread her legs for strangers," he sneered. "Tell me, Ivory—would any man do, so long as he fucks you well enough?"

The accusation struck like a slap. Her palm connected with his cheek before she could think, the crack echoing through the room.

"Before you moralize," she spat, "maybe your dick should learn which bed to rise in."

She whirled toward the table, gripping its edge until her knuckles bleached white.

"I’m saving us both. You belong with Evangeline—Go. To. Her."

Gadreel's hands seized her shoulders, spinning her around with enough force to make the silverware rattle. No one—no one—turned their back on him after striking his face. The heat radiating from his body contradicted the glacial fury in his voice as he trapped her against the table.

"You think this is your decision to make?" His breath fanned across her lips, laced with whiskey and venom. "That you can snap your fingers and end what I allowed to begin?"

A cruel laugh escaped him. "You're nothing. A placeholder. A shadow where a woman should be."

Each word landed like a scalpel, precise and vicious. Ivory's vision blurred, but she refused to let the tears fall—not here, not for him.

"Enough with the wounded doe act," Gadreel sneered, finally releasing her with a shove. "It's nauseating."

He straightened his cuffs, the gesture dripping with disdain.

"But if you're so desperate for freedom, don't let me stop you. Just remember—when you come crawling back, I won't so much as glance in your direction."

His footsteps echoed up the marble staircase, each one a hammer strike to her composure. Only when the study door slammed did the dam break.

Her knees buckled. The silverware she grasped clattered to the floor, a stray shard slicing her palm. Blood welled—crimson beads against porcelain skin—but the physical pain barely registered. Not when her chest felt cleaved open, her heart pulsing in the wreckage.

Curled beneath the dining table like a discarded doll, Ivory finally surrendered to the sobs clawing up her throat. The tears were hot, shameful, final.

Somewhere between the salt on her lips and the blood on her hands, an iron resolve crystallized:

Never again.

Tonight marked the end—of the humiliation, the hope, the girl who believed love could bloom in barren soil. When she rose from this floor, it would be as someone new. Someone who wouldn't break.

Not for him. Not for anyone.