Liam didn’t come home the entire night, and early the next morning I went to meet with a lawyer to discuss drafting the divorce agreement.
When I got home, the living room was a mess, and the study door was half open.
Vanessa was sitting on Liam’s desk, her blouse unbuttoned, lips swollen. Liam stood between her legs, his tie loose, one hand gripping her thigh, while Vanessa traced her fingers lazily along his shoulder.
A wave of nausea surged through me. I bit my lips hard enough to taste blood, rubbed the burning sting in my eyes, and turned back to the bedroom to pack my luggage.
I stuffed old clothes into the suitcase—clothes I’d bought before marriage. Three years, and I hadn’t added a single new piece.
The photos from our dating days, the DIY couple figurines, the plastic ring he used when he proposed—all thrown into the trash.
The sound of the turning lock echoed just as I was bent over pulling the zipper of my suitcase closed. Liam walked in, carrying a perfume scent—one that wasn’t mine.
“Clara, I’m sorry.” He approached quickly, his voice intentionally soft, reaching out to touch my shoulder, but I moved away.
“What happened yesterday was my fault. I was swamped and forgot the anniversary. I shouldn’t have hung up on you, either.” His apology skimmed the surface—his eyes showed no guilt, only the impatience of quieting a disturbance.
I said nothing and continued packing the scattered books. I knew this routine all too well.
“What are you doing?” Liam finally noticed the overflowing trash bin and frowned.
“Just clearing out some old things, putting everything back where it belongs.” My voice was calm, emotionless.
Yes—back to my design career, and the trash back in the trash.
Liam blinked, then relief washed across his face, as though I had sensibly saved him from trouble.
“That’s why you’re considerate, Clara.” His tone relaxed, riding the momentum. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Vanessa’s under a lot of pressure with the project and the client’s pushing hard. Her apartment is too noisy, she can’t concentrate. I thought our home is quiet, so she can stay here for a few days until the bidding’s done.”
My hand froze. The edge of the book cut my fingertip, and beads of blood surfaced. So his apology wasn’t for me—it was to pave the way for another woman to move in.
“Prepare the guest room. You’ll move there for now.” Liam didn’t even notice the blood and continued, “Vanessa is the company’s key player. This bid depends on her. Take care of her meals and don’t make trouble.”
“My house—why do I have to move?” I lifted my gaze and met his eyes, my voice trembling beneath restraint. This was our marital home. I guarded it for three years. Why should the woman destroying my marriage take my place?
Liam’s expression darkened, his tone sharpening. “Clara, why are you being unreasonable? Vanessa is critical right now, can’t you cut her some slack? It’s just a room, it’s not like I’m asking you to leave. Don’t be so petty.”
Before he could finish, light footsteps came from the hallway. Vanessa walked in wearing a delicate dress—the brand I used to love before marriage. Afterward, I never bought it again; Liam always said it was too expensive, that money should be spent where it mattered. Seven days ago, I saw that exact dress on his shopping list, and I naïvely thought it was an anniversary gift for me.
Yet here it was, on Vanessa’s body.
“Clara, I’m really sorry for the intrusion.” Vanessa spoke timidly, but triumph flickered in her eyes. “Liam means well. I truly have nowhere else to go. Once this phase is over, I’ll leave right away.”
She spoke while naturally strolling into the bedroom, her gaze landing on the skincare products on my vanity. She picked up a bottle and opened the cap, inhaling. “Wow, this serum smells great. Women get older—they really should take better care.”
Before I could respond, her eyes fell on the stack of design drafts I had sorted on the table—the very drafts I stayed up countless nights drawing, the ones that helped Liam build his rise in the design industry.
Vanessa picked up the pages, flipping through them fast, a mocking smile tugging at her lips. “These are the ‘outdated works’ Liam mentioned? The lines do look old-fashioned, and the colors are average. Definitely not presentable.”
“Vanessa, don’t talk nonsense.” Liam gave a symbolic scolding, without a trace of reproach, then turned to me. “Clara, Vanessa is focused on the project. She speaks straightforwardly. Don’t take it personally. Just accommodate her.”
My fist tightened, nails digging into my palm until the metallic taste of blood rose in my throat. Those drafts were my sleepless nights turned into visions—and Liam, the man I poured everything into, was now stepping on them with another woman.
I didn’t argue. I turned and walked toward the kitchen. Ever since last night’s decision to leave, I’d been busy researching the details of this bid. I hadn’t eaten yet and was planning to make lunch.
I tied the apron around my waist, and Liam squeezed his way in, bumping my arm. Heat flared across my wrist as hot oil splattered onto my skin, blistering instantly.
He didn’t even look. Instead, he said, “Vanessa likes light food. Don’t make anything greasy. Girls are delicate and picky—prepare something nutritious.”
He never stepped into this small, smoky kitchen before. He always said he had more important things to do—that the kitchen was where women belonged.
I sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively pulling my arm back.
He carefully sliced a plate of fruit before finally glancing at my blistered arm, his voice flat as if commenting on the weather: “It’s just a small burn. No need to be dramatic. Run it under cold water.”
When he finished, he didn’t look at me again. He rushed toward the living room, his voice carrying a tenderness I’d never heard directed at me:
“Vanessa, try the apple. You need vitamins, staying up late is hard on you.”
Vanessa’s sweet, delicate thanks floated back into the kitchen. I stood still, cold water running over the burn, yet feeling no coolness—only the creeping chill spreading through my chest.
I turned off the tap and stared at the blisters on my skin, a faint, self-mocking smile on my lips.
Liam. Vanessa.
Without my help this time—let’s see how the two of you plan to win this bid.
