Chapter 5

"You' re just a housewife!" Angel had screamed at me during one of our final, explosive arguments before the vow renewal. "You sit at home all day spending my money while I' m out there building an empire!"

He had conveniently forgotten that I was the architect of that empire. He had forgotten the all-nighters I pulled, the strategies I devised, the powerful people I charmed on his behalf.

I had asked for a divorce then, and many times after.

Each time, he would melt. He would hold me, his voice thick with regret. "Don' t say that, Ally-cat. I love you. Let' s fix this. I' ll even do that vow renewal you' ve always wanted. A real wedding, the one we couldn' t afford when we started."

When we got married at the courthouse all those years ago, we were broke. We couldn' t afford a real wedding, let alone a honeymoon. He had promised me then that one day, he would give me the wedding of my dreams.

It was a promise he' d long forgotten, or perhaps, never intended to keep.

But when he brought it up again, in the midst of our crumbling marriage, a foolish part of me clung to it like a life raft. A flicker of hope ignited in my tired heart. Maybe this grand gesture could fix us.

I threw myself into the planning, overseeing every single detail, from the flowers to the font on the invitations. I poured all my remaining love and hope into that one day.

And he took that hope and crushed it into dust.

Now, thinking of him, my heart felt nothing. Not love, not hate. Just a cold, dead emptiness.

The next morning, I slept in for the first time in years. I woke up not to an alarm, but to the sun streaming through my window. It felt like freedom.

I checked my phone. Dozens of missed calls from Angel. I ignored them.

Then, he called again. I let it ring a few times before answering.

"Where the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

"Good morning to you, too," I said, my tone light and breezy.

"Don' t play games with me, Alicia. My mother called. She said you weren' t there this morning. Dad needed his medication."

He was trying to guilt-trip me. To remind me of the role I had foolishly accepted.

"You promised, Alicia," he continued, his voice rising. "You promised you would take care of them. Are you that irresponsible? You' re useless."

I had to laugh. The sound was genuine, not bitter. The sheer nerve of this man was almost impressive.

For three years, I had been the sole caretaker for his parents. His father, Gerhard, a bitter man felled by a stroke, was demanding and cruel. His mother, Dorthea, was a cold, elitist snob who looked at me with open disdain, as if I were the hired help. They were impossible to please. I had endured their insults, their demands, their constant criticism, all because I loved their son.

And now that I was finally free, I was laughing.