Chapter 2

As I wheeled my suitcase toward the door, Jackson's words still echoed in my ears: "Are you really that pathetic? Can't survive without a man?"

He was right. For the past five years, I'd poured all my energy into watching his every move and fighting Odette.

I remembered what happened on the third day of our third reconciliation, during the Bayou Kings quarterly meeting.

That day I sat in the second chair to Jackson's right, listening to Odette report her flower shop's "losses."

"Over the past three months, 'Fleur de Lis' flower shop reported losses of eighty thousand dollars." I stood up, projecting the financial statements onto the screen. "But bank records show that during the same period, one hundred and twenty thousand dollars was transferred to Odette's personal account. The discrepancy remains unexplained."

Odette's face went white instantly, her fingers gripping the back of Jackson's chair: "That was... that was normal operational transfer for the shop, I... I can explain..."

Jackson didn't even look at the evidence, his eyes fixed on me: "Enough! Cordelia, get out!"

"Financial fraud violates the seventh rule—"

"I said enough!" He slapped me, his voice low but loud enough for everyone in the conference room to hear. "Playing games with me? You think I don't know what you're trying to pull?"

He turned to the stunned lieutenants, his voice returning to its authoritative tone: "Effective immediately, Cordelia is no longer serving as financial advisor. The contents of this meeting involve family business—all recordings are to be destroyed immediately. As for the flower shop's accounting issues, I'll handle it privately."

That evening, an official announcement signed by Jackson himself appeared in the internal communications: [Statement Regarding the Third Separation Agreement and Personnel Changes].

He acknowledged that our marriage had been suspended per our separation agreement, emphasizing that the separation was "by mutual agreement," implying that my behavior at the meeting was "emotional" and "causing problems." The postscript read: "Please respect the terms of our agreement and refrain from unnecessary speculation."

Sitting on my bed reading the announcement, I finally understood his calculation. After each reconciliation, he'd issue these statements—not for honesty, but to transform me from "the betrayed wife" into "the partner who agreed to separate."

And now, standing at the manor's entrance, I told Jackson in the rain: "This time, I'll go quietly."

Then I got into the taxi.

Jackson clearly hadn't expected such calm from me. He froze for a moment, then shouted: "July 16th, Odette's surgery appointment. I'll be waiting for you to come back that afternoon."

I glanced at my phone calendar. July 16th at 3 PM, my private jet was scheduled to take off.

I told the driver: "Let's go."

The window rolled up, cutting off his expression.

A week after moving out of the manor, I was staying at Elise's villa. Jackson was completely absorbed in Odette trying to get pregnant and hadn't contacted me once.

Unlike previous separations, I no longer had people watching Jackson's movements or deliberately showed up where he might be. Elise and I lived a genuinely relaxing vacation life—shopping and spa treatments during the day, wine and jazz at night.

Before I knew it, there were only two weeks left until my planned departure.

That day, Elise and I were trying on clothes at a downtown boutique when Jackson walked in with Odette on his arm. I saw him pause at the entrance through the mirror—clearly he'd spotted me too.

"Cordelia! What a coincidence, you're shopping too?" Odette clung to Jackson's arm, smiling particularly sweetly.

Jackson didn't respond, just stood there, his gaze shifting between me and the clothes in the store, seemingly debating whether to turn and leave.

I ignored them and continued selecting clothes with Elise.

When I'd chosen three pieces and was ready to check out, Odette gently tugged Jackson's sleeve: "Jackson, those are exactly the styles I wanted... It's hard for me to get around and shop like this. And the doctor said I need to stay in good spirits—it's important for my chances."

Jackson glanced at me, then finally nodded to the sales clerk: "Wrap them up, put it on my account."

Six months ago, this scene would have destroyed me. Now I just found this predictable performance somewhat amusing.

Elise went white with anger, almost ready to confront them, but I gently pressed her arm. "It's fine, Elise. Let's try another store."

Before, this kind of thing would have kept me awake all night, replaying every detail until I drove myself crazy. But now, watching them was like watching a bad soap opera that had nothing to do with me.

I even felt a trace of pity—he actually thought I'd still get worked up over a few pieces of clothing, over this man who'd been rotten through for so long.

The sales clerk packaged the clothes while flattering Odette: "Miss, you're so lucky to have such a thoughtful guy."

Jackson listened to those words, but his eyes kept following me as I walked toward the door with Elise. He was waiting—waiting for me to turn around, to explode, for my familiar "Jackson, how dare you!"

But I simply carried my own bag, linking arms with Elise, and walked straight to the exit. No pause, no eye contact, no unnecessary words.

The shop door closed behind me. Through the glass, Jackson stood frozen in place, holding the clothes I had originally chosen, his gaze locked on my retreating figure.