One week.
It had been one week since Fiona walked out, and Emmanuel felt like he was losing his mind.
He sat at his desk in the corner office of the Meyers Group headquarters, staring at the contract in front of him. The words blurred together, meaningless.
He signed his name on the wrong line.
"Sir?" Alex, his assistant, hovered nervously by the door. "Is everything alright?"
Emmanuel threw the pen down. "Get me a new copy."
"Yes, sir." Alex scurried out of the room.
Emmanuel leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept properly since that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the look on Fiona's face. That cold, dead stare.
It unsettled him more than her tears ever had.
He picked up his phone and opened his messages. Still nothing from her. He had texted her twice since she left, short, commanding messages.
Come home.
This is ridiculous.
Both had been left on read.
His phone buzzed. It was Alex.
"Sir, a courier just delivered something for you. It's marked urgent."
"Send it in."
Alex walked in a moment later, holding a thick manila envelope. He placed it on the desk and backed out of the room quickly.
Emmanuel stared at the envelope. The return address was a law firm he didn't recognize.
He picked up his letter opener and sliced it open.
He pulled out the stack of papers inside.
SUMMONS AND COMPLAINT FOR DIVORCE.
The words were printed in bold, black letters at the top of the page.
This wasn't a petition. This was a lawsuit.
He flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the legal jargon. Irretrievable breakdown of the marriage. No fault. No alimony. No property division.
She was serious. She was actually suing him for divorce.
A red haze descended over his vision.
He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. He stood up abruptly, his chair rolling back and hitting the wall.
He grabbed the sheaf of papers and hurled them across the room.
They hit the wall and scattered, fluttering to the floor like dead leaves.
"Damn it!" he roared.
He grabbed his phone and dialed her number. It rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Hello."
Her voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.
"What the hell is this?" Emmanuel demanded, his voice shaking with rage. "You're suing me?"
"It's the next step," Fiona said calmly.
"You think you can just file a lawsuit and walk away? You're my wife, Fiona. You belong to me."
"I don't belong to anyone. Especially not you."
"Stop being so stubborn." He paced behind his desk, his free hand clenching into a fist. "Come home. Now. We can talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Fiona, I'm warning you. Don't push me."
"What are you going to do, Emmanuel?" Her voice was laced with a bitter sarcasm. "Ground me? Take away my allowance? Oh, wait. I already cut up the credit cards."
He stopped pacing. "You did what?"
"I cut up the cards. I closed the joint accounts. I don't want your money."
"You think you can survive without my money?" He laughed, a harsh, cruel sound. "You're an archives clerk, Fiona. You dust old papers for a living. You can't even afford a studio apartment's rent in this city on that pathetic salary."
"Then I'll live in a cardboard box. It would still be better than living with you."
The contempt in her voice was a physical blow. It ignited something dark and possessive inside him.
"Is there someone else?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Silence on the other end.
"Are you cheating on me?" he pressed, his grip on the phone tightening. "Is that what this is about? You found some other poor sap to leech off of?"
"There is no one else," Fiona said, her tone weary.
"Then why? Why are you doing this?"
"Because the thought of touching you makes my skin crawl." The words were quiet, but they hit him with the force of a freight train. "Because the only man I've ever been with is you, and the very idea of you makes me sick to my stomach."
The line went dead.
Emmanuel stared at the phone in his hand. The screen displayed "Call Ended."
He threw the phone at the wall. It hit the drywall with a crack, leaving a dent before clattering to the floor.
"Alex!" he bellowed.
The door opened instantly. Alex stood there, his face pale.
"Find her," Emmanuel said, his chest heaving. "Find out where Fiona is staying. Now."
"Sir, I tried tracking her credit cards, but they've all been canceled. The bank said she removed herself from all the joint accounts yesterday."
Emmanuel froze. "She what?"
"She has no active accounts linked to the Meyers estate. I can't trace her through the financial system."
A cold, creeping sensation crawled up Emmanuel's spine. She had cut the cord. She had severed the lifeline he had used to control her for three years.
"She thinks she's clever," Emmanuel said, a cruel smile touching his lips. "She thinks she can just disappear."
He walked around the desk and looked out the window at the city below. Millions of people, and one of them was his wife. His wife, who was trying to leave him.
"Freeze her out," he said quietly.
"Sir?"
"Call the co-op boards. The country clubs. Any organization she's a part of. Make it known that Fiona Meyers is not to be extended any privileges."
Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, that's-"
"Do it." Emmanuel turned back to the window. "And call the legal department. Tell them to contest the divorce. File every motion possible. Drag this out. I want this to take years."
"Yes, sir."
Alex left the room.
Emmanuel stood alone in the silence of his office. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window.
He closed his eyes. All he could see was her face. Not the cold, dead look she had given him last. No, it was the look from their wedding day. The hope. The love.
A sharp, twisting pain lanced through his chest.
He pushed away from the window, his jaw clenching.
She would come back. They always did.
