I smiled faintly and asked, "What home do we even have left?"
That caught him off guard. He blinked, momentarily speechless.
I didn't give him a chance to recover. I turned and walked away.
All this time, I'd believed the spectacle he'd made when he married me meant he truly loved me. I'd fallen deeper and deeper, until I couldn't imagine a world without him.
And in the end, I was nothing but a bet he'd made on a whim.
Bertram's expression darkened with anger. "Pick your battles, Cheryl. This isn't the place."
My feet didn't stop.
I needed to get to the courthouse and file for divorce.
Behind me, one of his friends called out, "Bertram, she's an orphan from the mainland. No family, no connections, and certainly not here in Harbor City. Where's she going to go without you?"
Bertram's voice was unhurried, almost lazy. "Exactly. She's got nowhere to go. By tomorrow morning, she'll come crawling back to beg."
He sounded so sure of himself.
I paused. Turned around. "Bertram, do you really think I have nowhere to go?"
He let out a cold laugh. "What are you putting on this brave face for? Where would you even get the nerve?"
"You might've had a little fame back on the mainland when you were young, but that was five years ago. You're a married woman now. How exactly do you plan to sell that innocent sweetheart image of yours? By painting with your crippled hand?"
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.
Laughter erupted around the room.
Rachel stood up on her own, grabbed a glass of wine, and sauntered toward me.
"I've heard Mrs. Edwards was quite the prodigy in her younger days. Such a shame about the car accident, though. Lost a finger saving Mr. Edwards." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. "I truly envy the love you two share."
She extended the glass until it nearly touched my lips. "Mrs. Edwards, since we're both here to keep Mr. Edwards company, we might as well call it fate. Do me the honor. Have a drink. Let's be friends."
I swung my hand and knocked the glass away before it could reach my mouth. "You're the other woman. On what planet would we be friends?"
The glass hit the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.
Rachel's face twisted. She spun around to Bertram, teeth clenched. "Mr. Edwards, did you see that?"
Bertram waved her over. "She's just putting on airs. Come here. I'll drink with you."
Rachel smiled and turned back, but as she passed me, she rammed her shoulder hard into mine.
I wasn't braced for it. The impact sent me stumbling, and I crashed to the floor.
The back of my hand landed squarely on the scattered shards of glass.
White-hot pain shot straight through my bones.
Someone nearby sneered, "Well, there goes the other hand. She really won't be painting anymore."
"Shut your mouth!"
Before I could say a word, Bertram's voice cracked through the room like a whip. He was on his feet in an instant, striding toward me.
The private lounge went dead silent. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Everyone in Harbor City knew the same thing: when Bertram Edwards lost his temper, half the city felt the tremor.
He crouched down and scooped me into his arms. His gaze fell on my palm, torn and bloody from the glass.
"You're okay. I'm taking you to the hospital."
I turned my face away from his touch and said nothing.
The people in the lounge exchanged uneasy glances. Not a single one opened their mouth.
Bertram set me in the passenger seat. "Just hold on a little longer. We'll be there soon."
I leaned back against the headrest. My eyes drifted to the center console, where the edge of my identity documents peeked out from the storage compartment.
While Bertram's attention was fixed on the road, I slipped the documents out and tucked them into my pocket.
After my hand was bandaged and we were home, I texted my lawyer and told him to come pick up the documents.
"I have the identity papers. Push the divorce through. I need it done within a week."
Bertram didn't stay the night. As he left, I caught the glow of his phone screen. An incoming call from some rising young starlet.
I didn't give it a second thought. The next morning, I got up and started packing.
I hadn't expected Bertram to come back so early.
