I was resting when my phone rang. The number flashed familiar. I hesitated before answering.
“Nicole?” The voice on the other end was warm—Jonah Wilson, James’s mother. “Darling, are you feeling better?”
I swallowed. “Yes, Mother. Thank you for calling.”
“Good. Listen, it’s my birthday. I want you there. Everyone will be coming, and it’s been too long since we’ve seen you.”
I froze. “Mother, I don’t think—”
“Please, Nicole. For me,” she interrupted gently. “You’ve always been like a daughter to me.”
I closed my eyes. Jonah had always been kind to me—far kinder than her son. She’d been my anchor when everything fell apart. For the last time, I could give her that much.
“All right,” I said softly. “I’ll be there.”
Jonah’s birthday party was held at the Wilson estate—grand, bright, and loud. It was a world I no longer belonged to.
When I arrived, Jonah greeted me with a warm smile and pulled me into a hug. “You came,” she said softly. “Thank you, dear.”
“Of course,” I whispered. “Happy birthday.”
She studied my face for a moment. “You look tired,” she murmured, concern clouding her eyes. “Is everything all right between you and James?”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “No, Mother. It’s not.”
Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
And for the first time, I told her everything. About the affair. About Sasha. About the truth behind Amelia’s death—the heart transplant that never reached her because it was given to Sasha’s child instead. I told her about the lies, the betrayal, and the man her son had become.
Jonah’s face went pale, her hands trembling as I spoke. “My God…” she whispered. “That woman. That snake. And James—how could he—”
I reached out, gently squeezing her hand. “Mother, please. Don’t confront them. I don’t want a fight. I just want to end this quietly.”
She blinked at me, horrified. “Quietly? After what they did?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Let her have him. Let them destroy each other. I’m done.”
Jonah’s eyes filled with tears. “Nicole, you don’t deserve this. I won’t forgive her. Or him.”
I forced a small, tired smile. “Then do me one favor—don’t invite Sasha tonight. Let her know she’s not welcome. And let me leave in peace after this.”
She nodded slowly, her expression hardening. “All right, dear. For you, I’ll do that. But after tonight… go. Don’t ever look back.”
“I won’t,” I said quietly.
The night moved slowly. I stayed polite, silent, blending into the background. Jonah spent most of the evening surrounded by her friends, while I stood near the terrace, away from the crowd.
It wasn’t long before I saw him—James.
He looked the same: sharp suit, confident posture, that familiar charm that used to disarm me. He noticed me almost instantly, excused himself from a group of executives, and walked straight toward me.
“What did you tell my mother?” he demanded quietly, his voice edged.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play innocent,” he hissed. “Why didn’t she let Sasha come tonight? Did you say something to her?”
“I didn’t say anything,” I replied, keeping my voice calm.
His jaw tightened. “And she mentioned you asked for a divorce. Did you tell her that too? She’s been nagging me about it all week.”
“I didn’t tell her anything,” I said again, steady.
He leaned closer. “Nicole, didn’t we already talk about this? You promised to stop this nonsense.”
I looked at him—really looked. The man standing in front of me was no longer my husband; he was a stranger wearing a familiar face.
“I’m tired, James,” I said quietly. “Just ignore me from now on.”
I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. “No, you don’t get to walk away like that.”
“Let go,” I said through clenched teeth.
He didn’t. He pulled me toward the garden, away from the eyes of guests, his expression hard. “What’s wrong with you lately? Acting distant, refusing to talk, picking fights—what, do you enjoy making me look bad?”
I met his glare. “I don’t care how you look anymore.”
He laughed bitterly. “Of course you don’t. You never cared about anything except yourself. Stupid. Useless. Always playing the victim.”
The words landed like slaps. I stood still for a moment, then without warning, I slapped him back—hard enough to make him freeze.
“Say that again,” I said coldly. “Say it, and I’ll make sure every person in that room knows who you really are.”
His expression twisted into anger. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would.” My voice didn’t shake. “That’s why we’re getting divorced, whether you like it or not.”
He laughed again, a short, sharp sound. “Divorce me? Fine! Go ahead. Leave! But don’t come crawling back when you realize what you’ve lost. You’ll regret it.”
I stared at him, then smirked. “No, James. You’re the one who will regret it.”
I smirked and walked away, letting the music pull me into the crowd. If tonight was to be my last night in that house, I would own it.
I danced alone at first—slow, private—then drifted toward the guests. Men approached with easy smiles, offering drinks and small talk. I let them.
I laughed when it amused me, answered questions with bright, dangerous politeness, and watched their surprise when the reserved wife turned into the interesting stranger. Their attention was a balm; I could feel James watching, waiting for me to crack.
I found a group near the terrace—investors, board members, men who thought they knew everything about power. I spoke to them about art, about travel, about impossible ventures.
I teased one of them into proposing a ridiculous investment, and he laughed like a boy. They listened. They leaned in. I felt sharp and light, the center of a small, fascinated orbit.
Then a hand closed on my wrist. James’s voice was quiet but hot. “Seriously? You dare flirt with them?”
I didn’t look surprised. I let my smile spread slow and easy. “Flirt?” I echoed. “Is that what you call being charming?”
He tightened his grip. “You know exactly what I mean.”
I met his eyes full on, the crowd blurring at the edges. “And you,” I said, voice low enough for only him—“you dared hide your mistress from me? Keep her as your secret and act like I’m the problem?”
