The screen lit up against the nightstand, flashing every few seconds.
When I picked it up, forty-two unread notifications stared back at me.
All of them came from an unsaved number.
The first photo showed Alexander sleeping in an armchair, his tie loosened, his collar unbuttoned. Victoria’s bare arm was draped across his lap, her fingers tangled in his watch band.
The next picture was closer. Victoria smiled at the lens, cheeks flushed, resting her chin on Alexander’s shoulder while he remained asleep.
Then came the text:
*He barely spent twenty minutes in your room before coming back to mine. Guess whose bed he stayed by all night?*
Another message pinged immediately beneath it.
*He told me you’re faking the chest pains because of jealousy. It’s pathetic, Emma. Just let him go.*
My fingers locked around the phone. The physical ache in my chest didn't vanish, but something cold replaced the panic. I set the phone face down, walked to the closet safe, and pulled out the manila envelope I had hidden beneath the legal deeds six months ago.
I walked straight into the adjoining study without knocking.
Alexander sat behind his mahogany desk, reviewing financial reports on his monitor. He looked up, his brow furrowing as he took in the paperwork in my hand.
"You should be resting," he said, not bothering to take off his reading glasses. "The tantrums aren't working anymore, Emma."
I dropped the document right in front of his keyboard.
"Sign it."
He glanced at the bold title on the first page: *Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.*
A dry chuckle slipped from his mouth. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms. "Is this your newest bid for attention?"
"I want out, Alexander."
"You want out?" He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "On what grounds?"
"Take your pick," I said, my voice dead flat. "Infidelity. Neglect. Emotional cruelty."
"Victoria is recovering from a severe infection," he said, voice dropping to a warning pitch. "I’ve told you ten times. She has no family in this city. Supporting her isn't an affair."
"She sends me pictures of you in her hospital room while she gloats."
"She’s an insecure young woman who feels threatened by your hostility," he countered smoothly. "If you stopped acting like an unstable lunatic, she wouldn't feel the need to defend her place in my life."
I stared at him, stunned into silence.
He didn't blink. He reached forward, grabbed the thick stack of papers, and gripped them in both hands.
With two sharp, tearing sounds, he ripped the divorce filing in half, then into quarters, and dropped the shreds into the wastebasket by his feet.
"What are you doing?" My voice rose.
"Disposing of trash," Alexander replied, adjusting his cuffs. "You’re not divorcing me."
"I will print another copy. I’ll hire my own attorney."
"With what money?" Alexander stood up, towering over the desk. "Every account you access is tied to the Thorne trust. The prenuptial agreement gives me full administrative power over our combined assets during any legal dispute. You won't find a single attorney in this state willing to take a retainer against me."
"You can't keep me trapped here!"
"I'm protecting our family," he said, stepping around the desk until he was inches away. "Look at yourself. You’re pale, shaking, paranoid. You accuse me of neglect, you make baseless accusations, and you hire rogue doctors who shout in public wards. If you push this, I will file for an emergency conservatorship. I will have you legally declared mentally unfit."
A bitter sound broke from my throat. "You would put me in a psychiatric facility to save your reputation?"
"You're not leaving me," he said, his hand clamping around my wrist, tight enough to bruise. "Not like this."
I pulled my arm free with everything I had left. "You disgust me."
I turned on my heel and walked out of the study.
Downstairs, the sharp spasm hit before I reached the front foyer. A blinding flare of agony erupted beneath my sternum, radiating straight into my left shoulder blade. My vision fractured into spots. I grabbed the hall table to keep from crashing down, gasping for air that refused to reach my lungs.
I didn't call for Alexander. I knew what he would say.
I took the keys to the secondary sedan from the key drawer, stumbled into the garage, and drove myself through the gates.
The emergency department at County General smelled of bleach and floor wax. By the time I staggered to the triage desk, cold sweat soaked my collar.
"I need help," I wheezed, gripping the high counter. "Severe chest pain... cardiac history... Dr. Meyer was my physician..."
The triage nurse typed quickly, glancing up at my pale face. "Name?"
"Emma Thorne."
Her fingers froze over the keyboard. She exchanged a swift look with the charge nurse beside her.
"One moment, Mrs. Thorne."
Ten minutes later, a young resident stepped into the examination cubicle where I sat curled over my knees, rocking against the spasms in my ribs.
"Mrs. Thorne," the resident began, keeping his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his white coat. He didn't even unclip his stethoscope. "We reviewed your chart."
"Please," I begged, tears cutting paths down my face. "The pressure... it feels like my chest is being crushed in a vice. Dr. Meyer had me on IV nitroglycerin and specialized pain blockers—"
"Dr. Meyer was terminated for gross misconduct this morning," the resident cut in, stepping back toward the curtain. "His clinical notes are currently under administrative review by the hospital board."
"What? Why?"
"Mr. Thorne's legal team contacted our department two hours ago," the doctor said, eyes darting to the floor. "He notified us that you are experiencing severe psychosomatic episodes related to marital stress. Without your husband's consent or a full psych evaluation, we cannot administer controlled narcotics."
"He's lying!" I yelled.
"The waiting room is packed, ma'am," the doctor said coldly. "We can offer you oral ibuprofen and a referral to the outpatient behavioral clinic. Otherwise, you'll need to go home."
"I am dying," I whispered.
"You’re having a panic attack, Mrs. Thorne. Good day."
He pulled the curtain shut.
Two hours later, I pulled into the driveway of Sterling House. The sun had completely set, casting long, black shadows across the stone facade. Every muscle in my body throbbed from the ordeal, but my mind was completely numb.
I pushed open the heavy front double doors.
"Archie?" I called out softly.
Silence met me.
Usually, the moment my key turned in the lock, golden paws would scramble over the hardwood. He would charge down the hall, whining with joy, pushing his nose into my knees.
"Archie?"
Nothing moved.
I hurried into the kitchen. His water bowl was bone dry. His food dish had been turned upside down near the pantry.
Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the physical pain in my chest.
"Archie!" I ran into the living room, checking under the sofa, behind the curtains. I ran to the back terrace doors. The deadbolt was unlatched.
Alexander was sitting by the outdoor fire pit, swirling amber whiskey in a lowball glass.
I pushed the glass door open, the night wind whipping around my jacket. "Where is Archie?"
Alexander didn't look up. "Keep your voice down. The neighbors don't need to hear your screaming."
"Where is my dog, Alexander?"
He took a sip of his drink, staring into the flames. "He’s a dog, Emma. He probably ran away."
My heart stopped.
"Archie has never left this yard alone," I said, my voice trembling with fury. "He stays by my side every single second. What did you do to him?"
Alexander set his glass on the stone ledge with a sharp clink. He rose from his chair, his expression darkening as he stepped toward me.
"Are you interrogating me now?" he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation. "You left the back gate unlocked when you snuck out to the hospital like a lunatic. If he ran into the woods, that’s on you."
"You're lying!" I screamed, lunging forward to grab his lapel. "You got rid of him! You did it!"
Alexander caught both of my wrists in an iron grip, twisting them down until I fell to my knees on the cold flagstones.
"Watch your mouth," he snarled, glaring down at me. "You push me one more time, Emma, and you won't like what goes missing next."
He dropped my hands and walked back inside, sliding the glass door shut and clicking the lock into place.
I knelt alone on the freezing patio, my knees scraping against the stone.
