In my first year at work, I had rushed into marrying my boss, caught up in a whirlwind I never fully understood. For the past four years, I have dedicated myself to catering to his every need.
But recently, something had shifted. He started calling me wife and, shockingly, kissed me first.
With the company's IPO on the horizon, I wondered if he was finally ready to make our relationship public, to share with the world what we had built in the shadows.
But as with all fleeting moments of happiness, it was as fragile as fireworks. On the IPO day, Cora Buckingham returned to the country, and Easton Cavendish quickly became her knight in shining armor. He blocked three drinks for her and even had his arm around her waist.
I was there, too. At the venue, in the same room, but it felt like I was invisible.
[Easton, I’m going home,] I sent the message, knowing this would be the last time I would endure his indifference.
——
I was going home, to our home. The place I had built with him in my heart. I told myself that if Easton came out of the banquet hall now, I would forgive him. After all, I was his wife.
It was just blocking drinks; maybe he had his reasons. I told myself I was willing to listen to his explanation, to find a way to understand. But as the minutes stretched into hours, even my own excuses fell apart. By the time I could no longer convince myself, he still hadn’t come.
Finally, when the banquet ended, Easton stepped out, carrying Cora in his arms. She seemed drunk, her cheeks flushed, and they were far too close.
I pressed myself into the corner, my heart tightening with every beat, a knot of dread settling in my chest.
Easton had always been particular and even obsessive. It had taken a year before we could share the same bed without him needing everything in its perfect place. How quickly things had changed.
It took two years before we finally consummated our marriage. Still, all it took was a simple gesture from Cora, and she had him.
Easton removed her coat and held her close, his arms wrapped around her like she was the only one who mattered.
Tears streamed down my face; each drop was a reflection of the pain that crushed my chest, the injustice threatening to suffocate me.
Then, with a soft voice, Cora spoke her smile barely there but enough to send a chill through me.
"Easton, is there no chance for us?"
The words cut like ice, and I felt my heart freeze. But I was his wife, and I watched with unwavering eyes. If Easton nodded, I knew what I had to do. I would walk away from him, even if it meant betraying my father's last wish.
I had been swept along by the winds for so long, so lost in the whirlwind that I hadn’t even realized the fever creeping through my body.
My head grew heavy, the world tilting as I collapsed to the floor with a sharp thud, shattering the fragmented images that had clouded my thoughts.
Even then, I hadn’t heard his answer.
"Breigh Windsor!" A voice called my name, breaking through the haze.
A moment later, I felt Easton’s presence, the familiar blend of alcohol and perfume filling the air. It was suffocating, and I hated it.
When I finally came to, I found myself in a hospital room, my dress replaced by a sterile patient gown.
Easton was draped over the sofa, his suit jacket falling carelessly from his shoulders. He looked like a man who carried the weight of the world, his profile both gentle and determined.
I loved him at that moment, the quiet strength he exuded, but the truth was, he had never chosen me. He’d been forced into this marriage, bound by duty, when my father’s illness had taken hold.
Perhaps it had all been wrong from the very beginning.
A lump formed in my throat, and tears began to fall freely, each drop heavier than the last.
"Easton… let's get a divorce," I whispered, the words barely escaping, but they tore through me like a blade. My heart felt like it was being crushed, aching with a pain I couldn’t escape.
The man on the sofa seemed to sense the shift in the air, his brow furrowing deeper in response. But I didn’t care.
With a steady breath, I carefully slipped out of the bed. I couldn’t bear to stay here, to remain under the same roof with him, my boss, the man who towered over me in every way, young, powerful, unreachable.
I couldn’t fight against him.
So, I went home, gathered my documents, and walked out.
I was done. I wanted a divorce.
Once the thought entered my mind, I couldn’t push it away any longer.
Three days passed in silence, each one heavier than the last. I ignored all of Easton’s calls, seeking refuge in the solitude, waiting for the lawyer to send me the divorce papers.
Eventually, I turned off my phone and buried myself under the hotel’s thick blankets, the world outside slipping further away.
Then, the door burst open, and I found myself face to face with Easton, his stubble a rough contrast to his usually polished appearance.
Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, holding me close as though trying to absorb every part of me.
It was the same feeling I used to crave every night, the pressure of his embrace, holding me until I could hardly breathe.
And now, I understand that feeling.
