Caleb stood in the doorway of the kitchen, glaring at his phone screen. "I texted you three times."
I stirred my black coffee. I kept my gaze on the ceramic mug.
"Violet, did you hear me? I told you I need my blue blazer dry-cleaned by noon. And you didn't even start breakfast."
"Didn't see it," I said.
He dropped the phone to his side. His jaw muscles flexed. "What do you mean you didn't see it? You always have your phone on you. You're my emergency contact."
"I was busy."
"Doing what? You're on medical leave now because of your arm. You have nothing but time."
I traced the rim of my mug. The thick gauze on my forearm pulled tight, a sharp reminder of the boiling soup. "I'm resting."
"You're punishing me," he accused, stepping closer. "Over a stupid panic attack. I came back for you, didn't I?"
"You came back three hours later."
"I was dealing with a crisis! You're being completely irrational."
"Okay." I set the mug down.
"Okay? That's it?"
"That's it."
He stared at me, his eyes searching my face for the familiar tears, the begging, the desperate need for his approval. He found nothing. A flash of unease crossed his features before he masked it with annoyance. He turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.
Later that afternoon, he walked into the living room holding a small velvet box. He tossed it onto my lap.
"Here," he said, crossing his arms. "To make up for the misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?" I asked.
"You overreacted last night. But I'm the bigger person. I bought you a gift."
I opened the lid. A thin silver chain sat on the black cushion.
"It's from that boutique on Fifth Avenue," Caleb added, puffing his chest out. "I had my agent pick it up while I was in New York last week."
A folded piece of paper sat tucked under the velvet insert. I pulled it out.
"What's that?" Caleb asked, stepping forward.
I unfolded the receipt.
*Item 1: Platinum Diamond Teardrop Necklace. $18,500. Delivery Address: Jade Morrison.*
*Item 2: Promotional Silver Charm Bracelet. Price: $0.00. Complimentary Gift.*
I stared at the cheap trinket in my hand. Then I met my husband's eyes.
"You spent eighteen thousand dollars on your assistant," I said.
"It was a bonus! She did a great job organizing the charity gala."
"And you gave me the free sample."
"It's silver! It's a nice brand!"
I walked over to the kitchen trash can, pressed the pedal, and dropped the bracelet in. It landed on top of coffee grounds and broken eggshells.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Caleb shouted, his face turning a dark shade of red. "Are you completely brain-dead?"
"Keep your trash to yourself."
"You're acting like a psychopath! You throw away a designer piece because you're insecure?"
"I threw away a piece of junk."
"I'm done trying with you today!" He slammed his fist against the marble counter.
He stormed out, the front door slamming so hard the windows rattled.
I didn't cry. I went upstairs and opened my closet.
I pulled out a deep emerald silk gown. Caleb hated it. He said it drew too much attention. Today, I wanted all the attention.
I applied red lipstick. I strapped on stilettos.
My phone buzzed. It was Chloe, a soloist from my ballet company.
*Chloe: VIP room at The Zenith. You coming?*
*Violet: On my way.*
The music at the club thumped against my ribs. Chloe handed me a martini the second I walked into the leather booth.
"Look who escaped the golden cage," she cheered, raising her glass. "Where's the husband?"
"At home," I answered, downing half the drink in one swallow.
"Did he finally let you off the leash?"
"I cut the leash."
Chloe laughed, clinking her glass against mine. "Good for you. He always acted like he owned you."
We drank. We danced. Men approached our booth, offering to buy us bottles of champagne. I let them. I smiled. I flirted. For five years, I had kept my eyes glued to the floor whenever another man spoke to me, terrified of Caleb's jealous rages. Tonight, I held their gazes.
It was past two in the morning when I finally unlocked the front door of the Westbrook villa.
The foyer was dark, but a single lamp burned in the master bedroom. Caleb sat on the edge of our mattress, wearing only his sweatpants. The moment I walked in, his eyes dragged up and down my body.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice thick.
"Out."
"Dressed like that?" He stood up. "You look like a cheap escort."
"Then don't look."
I walked past him toward the master bathroom. He caught my wrist. Not the burned one.
He pulled me backward, wrapping a heavy arm around my waist, pinning my back against his chest. His lips brushed my neck.
"You smell like alcohol," he murmured. His hand slid down to my hip. "Let's stop fighting, Vi. Come to bed. I'll make you feel better."
I shoved my elbow backward, hitting his ribs hard enough to make him stumble.
"Don't touch me," I snapped.
Caleb grabbed his side, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm trying to fix things! I'm your husband! You owe me some affection after the way you acted today."
"I don't owe you a damn thing. Sleep on the couch."
"This is my house! This is my bed!"
"Fine." I grabbed a spare blanket from the armchair. "Then I will."
I walked down the hall to the guest room and locked the door. I lay down on the mattress and closed my eyes. No tears came. No panic set in. I slept perfectly.
Through the thin walls, I heard Caleb pacing the master bedroom. He cursed. He kicked a chair. He slammed a drawer. He stayed awake until dawn, trapped in his own frustration.
The morning sun streamed through the guest room window. I sat up, my bandaged arm throbbing slightly, but my mind was crystal clear.
I picked up my phone and scrolled to a number I hadn't dialed since my days at Princeton.
He answered on the second ring.
"Violet?" Ethan Vance's deep voice carried a hint of surprise. "It's been a long time."
"Hi, Ethan. I need your help."
"Name it."
"I need a divorce lawyer. And I need someone to track my husband's finances and private communications."
A brief silence hung on the line. Then, the sharp sound of a pen tapping against a desk.
"Caleb?" Ethan asked.
"Yes."
"I warned you about him at graduation."
"You were right. I was wrong."
"How aggressive do you want to play this, Violet?"
"I want to take everything." I stared at the blank wall opposite the bed. "Every dollar, every property, every endorsement deal. I want his bank records pulled. I want his private messages downloaded. I need the evidence of his infidelity airtight."
"He's a high-profile athlete. His PR team will try to destroy your reputation."
"Let them try. I have the burns on my arm to prove what kind of man he is."
"Send me whatever you have. I'll get an investigator on him by noon. Don't let him know you're leaving."
"I won't."
I hung up. The game had changed. Caleb thought I was just a jealous, hysterical wife throwing a temporary fit.
He didn't realize I was already dismantling his life.
My phone buzzed in my palm. An unknown number flashed on the screen.
I answered.
"Violet?" a sweet, high-pitched voice purred. "It's Jade. We really need to talk about your husband."
