"Let's have a divorce."
Gabriel went rigid.
His hand, which had just been hovering protectively behind Camille, fell away like it had been burned. For a moment, everything inside the room went completely still. Even Camille forgot to keep up her act—her fake crying paused mid-sob as she stared at me, eyes darting between us like she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.
“You’re joking… right?” Gabriel let out a shaky laugh, but it sounded forced, thin. “Marielle, come on. Don’t say things like that.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” I asked flatly.
The color in his face shifted. Not fear of me—no. I could see it clearly now. It was fear of consequences. Of exposure. Of contracts. Of his grandfather.
“You can’t just say that,” he lowered his voice, stepping closer until he loomed over the edge of my bed. “Do you even understand what you’re doing? We’re not just a couple—we’re the face of everything. The merger depends on us staying intact. My grandfather…” He dragged a hand down his face. “He won’t survive this kind of news. He’ll never accept it.”
“I don’t care about your grandfather,” I said, even though my fingers were shaking under the blanket. “And I don’t care about your precious merger. My son is dead, Gabriel. And that happened because of you.”
For a moment, he inhaled deeply like he was forcing himself back into control. Then the expression on his face shifted again—carefully arranged, practiced.
He fixed his tie. Adjusted his sleeves. Put the mask back on like it had never slipped.
Then he reached out and gently tucked my hair behind my ear.
I hated how familiar that gesture used to feel.
“Baby, listen to me,” he said softly, almost soothing. “You’re not thinking straight right now. You’re overwhelmed. The hormones, the grief… it’s messing with your judgment. You don’t really mean what you’re saying.”
A bitter laugh almost escaped me.
“What exactly do we have, Gabriel?” I asked quietly. “A life together… or a graveyard?”
His jaw tightened.
“I know I haven’t been perfect,” he said quickly. “I’ve been under pressure. Things have been complicated. But I can fix it. I can do better. We can go out once you recover. Just the two of us. I’ll take you somewhere nice—your favorite restaurant. We can start over. And… we can try again. Have another baby.”
Something inside me cracked at the ease of it. As if the child I lost could just be replaced like something forgotten on a shelf.
“You think that’s how it works?” I whispered. “Like I can just… replace him?”
He smiled faintly, like he already knew he had me.
“You love me, Marielle,” he said with quiet certainty. “You always have. You’re not going to throw everything away over this.”
“And me?” My voice broke just slightly. “Do you love me, Gabriel?”
“Of course,” he answered immediately.
Then he leaned in and kissed me.
It was soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss that once used to make everything in me melt without effort.
But now it felt wrong. Hollow. It tasted like betrayal I hadn’t fully understood until this moment—like perfume that wasn’t mine, like something borrowed from someone else’s skin.
When he pulled away, he was smiling.
“There,” he said lightly. “See? Nothing’s changed between us.”
A sound escaped me then—not quite a laugh, not quite anything human. Something broken and sharp that I couldn’t swallow back.
Of course I love you.
The lie had always been effortless for him.
And suddenly, I was no longer in that hospital bed—I was somewhere else entirely, dragged backward by memory.
Our marriage hadn’t begun with romance. It had begun with signatures and obligations. A deal made between two powerful families over expensive cigars and heavier expectations. I was twenty. Gabriel was twenty-two.
I remembered being afraid… and strangely hopeful at the same time. I had known who he was long before I married him—the heir everyone admired, the man everyone expected me to end up with. Charismatic. Untouchable. Always out of reach.
And always, there was Camille.
Not just his secretary back then. She had been part of his orbit for as long as I could remember. After her father died and left nothing but debt, Gabriel’s family took her in. She lived within their world, always close, always present—especially because her brother Martin was Gabriel’s closest friend.
When we first got married, Gabriel barely looked at me. He was polite, but distant, like I was simply part of the arrangement he hadn’t chosen. Most of his time belonged to them—Camille, Martin. I was there, but never really included.
Then Camille left for Paris.
For two years, she disappeared into fashion school, and something in our house finally changed. The silence she left behind made room for me.
Gabriel began to notice me. Slowly at first, then all at once. We talked more. Laughed more. He came home earlier. I started believing that maybe this wasn’t just a contract anymore.
I still remember the first bouquet he gave me—white lilies wrapped awkwardly in paper. I remember the Maldives, the way he held me under a sky full of stars, whispering that he was glad it was me he married.
I had believed it then. Completely.
I thought I had finally been chosen.
But six months ago, Camille returned.
No triumph. No warning. Just her arrival, a failed degree, and a fragile story that made Gabriel open the door for her again—this time as his executive assistant.
And just like that, everything that had been built in her absence began to rot.
It didn’t collapse loudly. It happened in pieces.
One forgotten birthday because Camille “needed help.”
One anniversary missed because she was “going through something.”
One diamond bracelet that appeared on her wrist after I never received it.
Ninety-nine small cuts I convinced myself were nothing.
I swallowed every one of them. Smiled at events while she held onto his arm like it belonged to her. Ate dinner alone while he stayed late “at work” with her. Told myself I was imagining things. That I was just insecure. That Gabriel still loved me.
But now, hearing his kiss linger on my skin, everything finally cleared.
He never really chose me.
I was convenience. Stability. A cover story. A necessary piece for inheritance, reputation, and appearances.
And behind him, Camille was watching me.
Her eyes weren’t soft. They were sharp, measuring—careful. She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was checking if I was still standing in her way.
If I fought now, weak and trapped in a hospital bed, I would lose everything. Gabriel would twist the story. Make me the unstable grieving wife. Use his name, his influence, his grandfather’s power.
So I let something else take over.
Not surrender.
Strategy.
I lowered my gaze, letting my shoulders sink like I was breaking.
“…Maybe you’re right,” I whispered. “Maybe I’m just overwhelmed.”
The relief on Gabriel’s face was immediate. Visible. Almost relieved enough to disgust me.
“I knew it,” he said softly, squeezing my hand like nothing had changed. “You don’t really mean it.”
“I’m just tired,” I murmured, closing my eyes so he wouldn’t see what was burning behind them. “I want to sleep.”
“Good,” he said quickly, already stepping back like he couldn’t wait to leave. “Rest. I’ll take care of everything here.”
“Okay.”
“And Marielle,” he added at the door, pausing without turning fully back, “don’t say that word again. Divorce. It’s unnecessary. We’ll fix this.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
He nodded, satisfied, then guided Camille out with him like she belonged beside him.
The door closed.
Silence followed.
I reached under my pillow, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in a decade.
A number I promised I would never need again.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then a voice answered—calm, elegant, distant.
“Hello?”
“…Mother,” I said, my throat raw. My voice barely held together, but something harder was forming underneath it. “You once told me… if I ever changed my mind, you’d help me. You said you still wanted to make things right between us.”
A pause.
Then softer: “I did say that. And I meant it. What do you need?”
I closed my eyes.
“Help me leave,” I whispered. “Get me out of here. Papers. Visa. Anything. I’m done, Mother. I want out. I want to disappear.”
