Chapter6
Eleanor's POV
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and lies.
Isabella paced by the window, phone pressed to her ear, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "I called 911. But your brother didn't—" She stopped mid-sentence, hand flying to her mouth.
I went very still.
"He didn't call an ambulance." The words tasted like ash. "Did he?"
Isabella turned away, shoulders tense. Mom's hand tightened on mine, her grip desperate, but she said nothing. The silence was answer enough.
"He thought I was faking." I stared at the ceiling, at the fluorescent lights that suddenly seemed too bright. "He left me unconscious on the floor because Selena came back, and my concussion was just... inconvenient."
Mom's voice cracked. "Eleanor—"
"Please take me home." I couldn't bear another second watching them try to defend him. "I don't want him to see me here. I don't want to watch him perform care he doesn't feel."
In the car, I made them promise. "Don't interfere with my marriage. This is mine to end." I touched the bandage on my temple. "When Dad's condition stabilizes, when Sebastian's scholarship comes through—then I'll leave. Cleanly. Finally."
Mom's hand tightened on mine. "You shouldn't have to suffer for us."
"I'm not suffering for you. I'm choosing my moment." The lie came easily now. "There's a difference."
They stayed until evening—Mom making soup I couldn't eat, Isabella muttering threats against her brother. When I finally convinced them to leave, silence rushed in to fill the space.
I walked to the master bathroom, catching my reflection—pale skin, bandaged temple, eyes that looked older than they should. My hand reached for the Tiffany crystal tumbler on the vanity, the one I'd had custom-made for our first anniversary. Two faces etched in the glass—Arthur's rare smile, my head on his shoulder.
I remembered crying for hours to convince him to use these cups. He'd finally agreed, then proceeded to never touch his.
"Because we were never 'us' to him," I whispered.
The tumbler slipped from my fingers. It hit the marble with a crystalline crack, exploding into countless fragments, and that sound was like a door opening inside me. I swept my arm across the vanity—the matching tumbler shattered, the Diptyque candles crashed, his unopened Hermès shaving set followed. I tore down the wedding photo from the wall, destroyed everything that pretended we were building something together.
"Why did I keep these?" My voice echoed off the marble. "Why did I pretend we were ever happy?"
The laughter started somewhere in my chest—bitter, broken, morphing into sobs. I stood in the wreckage of my marriage, laughing and crying until I couldn't tell which was which.
Finally, the rage burned out. I slid down against the bathtub, surrounded by shards of crystal and broken dreams. The cold tile pressed against my cheek as I closed my eyes, tears flowing freely.
This is my marriage. Irreparable. Beyond restoration.
I don't know how long I lay there. Long enough for the tile to leach all warmth from my body. Long enough for the tears to stop. Long enough to hear the front door open, his footsteps in the hallway, the murmur of his voice—soft, tender, speaking to someone who wasn't me.
"Listen to the doctor. Stay a few more days." A pause. "When you're out, I'll take you and little Jack to Central Park."
The bathroom door opened. I kept my eyes closed, too exhausted to move.
"Eleanor?"
His hand touched my shoulder. I forced my eyes open—empty, unfocused. Tears slipped silently down my temples.
He checked my temperature, finding me freezing. His voice remained clinical, edged with reproach. "Even if you're unhappy, you can't endanger your health like this. Do you know how dangerous hypothermia is?"
I didn't respond. Just kept crying those silent, endless tears. He thinks I'm self-harming for attention. He'll never understand—I'm just so tired.
He carried me to the bed, and I heard him cleaning the bathroom—sweeping up the shattered crystal, the broken dreams. When he returned, he sat on the edge of the mattress.
"I know you're emotionally unstable right now. But we need to calm down and talk rationally."
My back was to him. "Talk about what? About why you left me unconscious on the floor for six hours? Or why you were with her while I was in the hospital?"
"I thought you were feigning illness. You've used this tactic before—"
"So even when I'm bleeding from a head wound, you assume I'm performing?" I turned to face him, eyes blazing. "If I actually died, would you think I was faking that too?"
Silence stretched between us, cold and vast.
"You're not calm enough for this conversation." He stood. "I'll sleep in the guest room. When you've settled down, we'll talk."
The door clicked shut. I stared at the ceiling, tears sliding into my hair. He couldn't even stay. Because my pain is just another problem he needs to "handle."
Darkness swallowed me, but this time I didn't fight it. I had nothing left to lose.
Isabella dragged me out the next day, insisting on brunch and shopping, trying to coax life back into me. I let her pull me through the motions—restaurant, coffee, Fifth Avenue. At Bergdorf Goodman, security blocked the entrance.
"The building has been reserved for a private event."
Isabella called the store manager, then hung up, face pale. "Eleanor... Arthur reserved the entire store."
My heart plummeted. He's here. With her.
Isabella flashed the family's black card. "I'm a Sterling. Let us in."
The elevator doors opened on the third floor, and there, in the middle of the gleaming shoe salon, was my husband in his impeccable Tom Ford suit, kneeling on one knee before a blonde woman, carefully fastening the strap of her Manolo Blahnik heels. Selena sat on the velvet fitting sofa, smiling sweetly, a five-year-old boy in her lap. Arthur's expression was tender in a way I'd never seen directed at me.
My face went white. I pressed a hand to my chest, swaying. He never bought me shoes. Never even handed me a pair of slippers. But he'll kneel for her. He'll reserve an entire department store so she can shop in peace.
Isabella charged forward, Hermès bag raised like a weapon. "You bitch!"
Arthur reacted instantly, pushing Selena into a nearby dressing room and blocking the door. He turned, saw me standing frozen, and his brow furrowed. "Eleanor, are you following me?"
I took a shaky breath. "Arthur Sterling, it's eleven AM on a Tuesday. Your work hours." I pointed at the dressing room. "So this is your 'emergency meeting'?"
"Take Isabella and leave. You're not welcome here."
"Not welcome?" Isabella laughed, sharp and furious. "This is Bergdorf Goodman, not your private property!"
"I reserved the entire building. So yes, you're trespassing."
I walked toward the dressing room, my voice eerily calm. "I want to see her."
"No." He blocked my path.
"I want to see the woman you kneel for. The woman you reserve department stores for. The woman you leave your wife bleeding on the floor for."
His patience snapped. He pulled out his phone, dialing security. "There are two women on the third floor who've entered a private event without authorization. Please escort them out."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You're calling security on me?"
"You can leave on your own, or I'll have them escort you out. Choose."
My tears finally broke free. "I'd love to know, Arthur Sterling—for the woman you love, how far will you go? Will you have security drag me out? Will you humiliate me in public? Will you let all of New York know that Mrs. Sterling is a joke?"
He said nothing, but he didn't lower the phone.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. "Arthur Sterling, don't make me regret marrying you."
His response was cold, final: "Eleanor, you're forcing me to say this—don't make me regret marrying you."
I turned and ran, my heels clicking frantically against the marble floor—the sound of a heart shattering in real time. Behind me, Isabella's voice rang out: "If my sister-in-law ever leaves you, I'm buying coffee for all of New York to celebrate!"
I didn't look back. Couldn't bear to see him standing there, protecting her, choosing her, loving her in all the ways he'd never loved me.
The elevator doors closed, and I finally let myself break.
