Chapter 3

"Because I froze it," I say.

Silence.

Then: "You what?"

"I froze the supplementary card."

"You..." He chokes on the words. "You can't just..."

"You told me you wouldn't use it anymore." My voice stays level. Calm. "Remember? Three months ago. You said you'd stop relying on my accounts."

Another pause.

Longer this time.

I can picture him standing there, mouth half-open, scrambling for an argument that won't make him sound like a hypocrite.

"That was different," he finally manages. "Riley, I needed that card tonight. Do you understand what you've done? I had to...Chloe had to cover the auction bid. Do you know how humiliating that was?"

My chest tightens.

"You're still mad about the anniversary dinner," he goes on accusingly. "This is about that, isn't it? You're being petty."

Petty.

"I'll make it up to you," he continues, voice softening into negotiation mode. "I promise. Next month. Something bigger. Better. A real celebration. But you need to unfreeze the card. Right now. Ten minutes, Riley. Or I swear to God—"

"Ask Chloe," I say.

"What?"

"She covered the auction. She can cover the rest too."

I hang up.

The next day, I went to the law firm.

Margaret White opens the folder I brought.

"You're sure about this?" she asks.

I nod.

She flips through the divorce agreement. The one Arthur signed a few days ago. The one he didn't bother reading because he was late for a dinner reservation. With Chloe.

I'd stood in the hallway, holding the papers, watching him scribble his signature while balancing a jewelry box in his other hand.

"Just need your signature on this," I'd said.

He'd barely glanced at the pages. Flipped to the last sheet. Signed.

"You should read it," I'd suggested.

"I trust you," he'd said.

Then he'd grabbed his coat and left.

Trust.

The word sits in my throat like broken glass.

He trusted me because he didn't care. Because my signature was just another task to check off before he could get to what actually mattered.

Margaret keeps the original and hands me a copy. I take it and stand.

After that phone call last night, I packed a few bags and moved out. The apartment I rented is small. A place to exist while everything else sorts itself out.

My phone comes back to life with a series of angry buzzes.

Fourteen missed calls. All Arthur.

I scroll through the messages.

[Where are you?]

[Riley answer your phone]

[This is ridiculous]

[I don't have time for your games]

[Fine]

[FINE]

[You want to play it this way?]

The last one lands like a punch:

[I want a divorce.]

I stare at the screen.

This is his pattern. His weapon.

Threaten divorce. Watch me panic. Watch me apologize. Watch me bend.

It's worked for years.

He doesn't know this time I want the same thing.

That I've already done it.

Two days later, my lawyer called and told me everything was taken care of.

I figured it was finally time to kick Arthur out of my life for good.

I hung up and drove over to our house.

I'd packed a few bags and left a couple of days ago. Now I was there to move everything out for good.

The sound hits me before I even open the door.

Music playing somewhere inside.

I push the door open.

They're in the living room.

Arthur's on the couch. Chloe's beside him, legs tucked under her, champagne flute in hand.

She's wearing my cashmere wrap.

The one I bought in Paris on our honeymoon.

She sees me first.

"Oh." She straightens. Smiles. "Riley. What are you doing here?"

What am I doing here.

In my house.

Arthur looks up. His expression shifts—surprise, then annoyance, then something colder.

"You can't just show up like this," he says. "I have guests."

"You live here," Arthur continues, voice tight. "Technically. But you moved out. You don't get to come back and disrupt my life whenever you feel like it. That's not how this works."

I’m this close to snapping at him, but the second I open my mouth, a gentle voice cuts in.

"She probably just missed the house," Chloe says. "It's hard to let go of a place you've lived for so long."

Arthur's face shifts. Satisfaction replacing irritation.

"Is that it?" he asks. "You regret moving out?"

"She probably didn't think it through," Chloe adds. "Moving is emotional."

Arthur nods. Leans back. "You should've just stayed. I told you this was a mistake."

My throat burns.

He's rewriting it again. Erasing the fights. The ultimatums. The way he made it impossible for me to exist in my own home.

"Listen." He stands. Moves toward me. "I know you're upset about the card. About the dinner. But you embarrassed me, Riley. You froze my accounts during a charity event. Chloe had to use her own connections to fix it. She paid for the auction item out of pocket."

Chloe ducks her head.

"So here's what's going to happen," Arthur continues. "You're going to compensate her. There's a diamond necklace she's had her eye on. Give her your mother's necklace. The sapphire one. Write a statement saying it's a gift. Do that, and I'll consider forgiving you."

The room goes still.

He's serious.

He wants me to hand over my mother's necklace—worth twenty thousand dollars, to compensate his mistress for the humiliation I caused him.

"And I'll give you a hundred dollars," he adds. "To make it fair."

Chloe touches his arm. "Arthur, I don't need—"

"Yes, you do," he says firmly. "Riley needs to learn there are consequences. If she agrees—" He looks at me. "I'll reconsider the divorce. We can work through this."

Chloe leans into him. Soft. Pleading. "Maybe just let it go? They've been married for so long. It would be such a shame to throw that away over a misunderstanding."

She's good.

I'll give her that.

She's making herself the voice of reason while tightening her grip on him.

Arthur looks at me. Expectant. Triumphant.

"Fine," he says. "Since Chloe's being generous, I'll—"

"You misunderstood," I say.

He stops mid-sentence.

I reach into my bag, pull out the copy of the divorce agreement, and hand it to him.

"I meant we're already divorced."