Chapter 1
My husband cheated on me a thousand times, but he would never, ever grant me a divorce.
His family called me gutter trash, unfit to carry their name.
The first time I asked for a divorce, five years ago, George
month later, I found out I was pregnant.
Cannon didn’t say a word. He just locked
locked me in our villa for a month. A
THA
The second time I asked, three years ago, George went straight to his family’s estate that night. The next day, I was informed my
visitation rights for our son had been reduced to once a week.
Today was the third time. And this time, I was finally leaving.
Because I’d finally realized it: my child didn’t love me, and my marriage was a lie. There was no difference between me and the
women he slept with on the side.
The wedding my friend was having today was the one I had planned for myself.
I had spent six months meticulously crafting every detail, a wedding George had rejected in a single, careless minute. After a quick, impersonal ceremony, he had made me a promise. No matter who he played with on the outside, I, and only I, would be Mrs. Cann-
- on.
Today, he brought his latest plaything to this very wedding.
The moment I walked into the reception hall, I was hit by a barrage of stares. There was amusement, blatant curiosity, and of cour-
se, pity.
Only George remained utterly unfazed, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “You’re here,” he said,
dgment.
a casual acknowle-
I locked at the young woman clinging to his arm and gave a calm, measured nod. In seven years of marriage, this was hardly the
first time George had flaunted an affair.
The groom looked mortified, clearly unprepared for this. “Elara! So good to see you. Come, sit, make yourself comfortable.” I offered him a tight, grateful smile for trying to smooth things over.
My designated seat at the main table was already taken. The uninvited guest who had stolen it was nestled securely under George‘
s protective wing.
George glanced at me, his voice casual. “Someone’s in your spot. Find another one.”
Years of submission had carved obedience deep into my bones. “Alright,” I said.
As I sat down at a table in the back, I could feel the stares on me grow bolder, more unrestrained. The groom shot me an apologet- ic look, asking a family member to look after me before he left. Even a near–stranger showed more concern for my feelings than
my own husband.
The ceremony began. The bride walked down an aisle of my choosing, wearing a gown of my design, toward a happiness I had
never known
Everything was exactly as I had dreamed it would be.
The young woman on George’s arm was fresh–faced, her expression a perfect blend of innocence and vivacity. She leaned toward me ‘George told me you have a real talent for flower arranging, Elara. Could you make a bouquet for me? Just like the bride’s.”
The air at the table froze. The other guests exchanged uneasy glances, too intimidated to speak
I put down my fork and instinctively looked at George,
Chapter 1
11.55
He stroked the girl’s hair affectionately, then jerked his chin at me. “What are
you waiting for?” he commanded. “Go on.”
I met his mocking gaze, and in that moment, something inside me finally clicked into place. A sense of peace washed over me. I smiled, a genuine, liberated smile.
I pushed back my chair, stood up, and walked out of the hall.
“And be quick about it,” George called after me.
didn’t reply. I didn’t slow down. I walked out of the reception hall, through the hotel lobby, and out onto the street.
I never once looked back.
The family driver wasn’t there, so I just kept walking. As I passed a trash can, I bent down, slipped off the red–soled heels George had bought me, and dropped them inside.
The moment my bare feet touched the cool, solid pavement, it felt as if the shackles I’d been wearing for seven years had shatter- ed and fallen away. For the first time, I felt grounded.
I had just gotten home when George’s call came through.
“How long does it take to make one goddamn bouquet? Do you have any idea someone is waiting for you?”
I almost laughed. “I never agreed to make a bouquet,” I said simply. “And I’m already home.”
A sharp, humorless laugh crackled over the line. “Elara Shaw, you’ve grown a spine, have you?”
“Mm–hmm,” I hummed in agreement, a response that clearly caught him off guard.
I could hear his breathing hitch for a second before he snarled, “Fine, Elara. You’ve got guts. We’ll see how long they last.”
I was done talking. I hung up.
The housekeeper was already helping me pack.
