Chapter 5 Chapter 5

The charity gala was to be her final performance as Mrs. Arnold. It was an event meant to showcase the family's power and philanthropy. For Doris, it was a funeral.

Emit had made it clear that her attendance was not optional. It was part of their deal. One last time in the mask.

He and Gigi descended the main staircase together. He, in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. She, in a gown of shimmering gold, wearing the sapphire necklace. Her necklace. They were a portrait of power and possession, excluding Doris from the frame completely.

Doris watched them from the top of the stairs, a ghost at her own wake. She smoothed down her simple black dress. It was her own, not one he had bought for her. A small, private rebellion.

She would attend this party. She would smile and nod and be invisible. And she would consider every moment of it a ritual of goodbye. A final walk through the ruins of her old life before she turned her back on it forever.

Later, seeking a moment of quiet, she stepped out onto a deserted terrace. The cool night air was a relief.

She overheard two voices drifting from the shadows of the garden below. Emit and his grandfather, Ebenezer Clay.

"The merger is complete," Ebenezer said, his voice a low rumble. "You've handled it well, Emit. Your brother would be proud."

A pause.

"And the other matter?" Ebenezer asked. "The woman."

"It's being handled," Emit said, his voice tight. "The divorce is proceeding."

"Good," Ebenezer said. "She has been an embarrassment long enough. Once she is gone, you can legitimize your relationship with Miss Kelley. The board will be pleased. She is a much more suitable match."

"Gigi serves her purpose," Emit said, his tone clipped.

"And what of the children?"

"They will remain here. They are Arnolds. She will have no claim on them."

Doris felt the air leave her lungs. Her future, decided for her. A clean cut. Erased from her children's lives. Judged and dismissed by the man she had married.

The last, fragile thread of illusion snapped. She had known this was coming, but hearing it spoken so coldly, so transactionally, was like a physical blow.

She turned to go back inside and nearly collided with Isadora.

Isadora smirked, a cruel, knowing look in her eyes. "Heard enough?"

Doris pushed past her, her vision blurring. She stumbled back into the crowded ballroom, the music and laughter a discordant roar.

Her eyes searched the room, and she saw him.

Emit.

He was standing near the orchestra, talking to Gigi. He wasn't looking at her, but Doris felt his presence like a pressure point.

As she watched, he did something that shattered the final piece of her heart.

He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Gigi's face.

It was a small, intimate gesture. A gesture he used to reserve for her, in the early days, before the coldness set in. A gesture of unconscious tenderness. A symbol of care.

And he had just given it to Gigi. In front of the entire world.

The pain was so sharp, so absolute, it was almost clarifying.

This was the end. There was nothing left to salvage. Nothing left to mourn.

A sudden storm broke outside. Rain began to lash against the tall glass windows. The wind howled. Guests murmured, moving away from the doors.

Doris walked straight towards them.

She pushed open the heavy doors and stepped out onto the main portico.

The wind tore at her dress. The rain soaked her hair, plastering it to her face in seconds.

"Doris!"

It was Emit's voice, sharp with alarm.

He came after her, grabbing her arm. "What are you doing? Are you insane? Get back inside."

She wrenched her arm free.

"No," she said, her voice loud enough to be heard over the storm.

She turned to face him. Rain streamed down her face, washing away the tears she didn't even realize she was crying.

"I'm not your puppet anymore, Emit," she said. "I'm not your problem to manage. I'm not your embarrassment to hide."

She took a step back, into the driving rain. Away from the shelter of the house. Away from him.

"This is over," she said, the words a vow to herself. "And I'm the one ending it."

She saw the shock on his face, the confusion. For the first time in years, she had done something he could not predict, could not control.

She turned her back on him, on the house, on the entire glittering, toxic world, and walked down the steps into the raging night.

She was no longer the girl who needed his protection. She was the woman who had finally learned to love herself enough to walk away.