Chapter 3

Almeda Hughes POV:

I met Hector at the bottom of the stairs. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes blazing with an anger he rarely showed, an anger reserved only for when I disrupted his perfectly controlled world.

"Did you lose your mind?" he bit out, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you have any idea how much that jewelry was worth?"

"Do you have any idea how much six years of my life was worth?" I shot back, my voice shaking but firm. I had never spoken to him like this before. The shock on his face was almost satisfying.

Jacob clung to Hector' s leg, glaring at me. "You're crazy! You're a crazy witch!" He kicked my suitcase, a futile, childish act of aggression. "Daddy, make her leave!"

The raw, unrestrained rage that I had suppressed for 2,190 days finally erupted. It wasn't a scream. It was a chillingly calm action. I walked past them into the dining room. The half-eaten coconut cream cake sat on the table, a monument to my humiliation. Helene stood nearby, a smug, victorious look in her eyes.

My hands moved before my brain could process the command. I grabbed the delicate porcelain cake stand and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with a deafening crash, white porcelain and cream splattering across the expensive silk wallpaper.

Jacob screamed. Helene gasped, feigning fear.

Hector grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh like talons. "Have you gone completely insane?"

I ripped my arm from his grasp. "Insane? You want to see insane, Hector?" I swept my arm across the dining table. Crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and fine china went flying, crashing to the floor in a cacophony of destruction. Each shatter felt like a release, a breaking of the invisible chains that had bound me for so long.

"Stop it! You're scaring Jacob!" Hector yelled, pulling his son behind him protectively, shielding him from me as if I were a monster.

Helene rushed to Jacob's side, her arms wrapping around him. "It's okay, sweetie. The bad lady is just having a tantrum. She'll be gone soon."

I stopped, my chest heaving. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a profound emptiness. Looking at the wreckage, I felt nothing. No satisfaction, no regret. Just a weary sense of futility. This mess was a perfect metaphor for our marriage.

"Clean this up," Hector ordered, his voice dripping with disgust. "And then you will apologize to Helene and Jacob."

"No," I said, my voice flat.

"She's a bad woman, Daddy," Jacob sobbed into Helene's dress. "I don't want to see her ever again."

Hector stroked his son's hair, his gaze fixed on me with utter contempt. "You heard him. Pack your things and get out of my house." He turned his back on me, focusing all his attention on soothing his son, guided by Helene's gentle murmurs.

"Don't worry, Jacob," Helene whispered, her eyes meeting mine over his head. They were gleaming with triumph. "I'm here now. I'll take care of you and your daddy."

I didn't need to be told twice. I turned without another word and walked up the stairs. In my room, I grabbed the small, worn leash from my nightstand. Buddy, my golden retriever, lifted his head from his dog bed, his tail giving a soft thump-thump against the carpet. He was the only piece of my old life I had brought with me, the last living link to a time before Hector Porter.

With my single suitcase in one hand and Buddy's leash in the other, I walked out of the room that had been my gilded cage.

As I descended the stairs, Hector was gone. Only Helene and Jacob remained, standing like a portrait of a new family in the foyer.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Hector.

`The limited edition Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet Helene was wearing tonight. You will replace it. Have it delivered to my office by tomorrow.`

I stared at the message, a humorless laugh bubbling in my throat. He was kicking me out, yet he still felt entitled to give me orders.

I deleted the message, then his contact, then I blocked his number.

The house was oppressively quiet that night. Hector and Jacob never came home. I imagined them staying at a hotel, or perhaps at Helene' s apartment, creating new, happy memories on the ruins of my marriage. I didn't care. I slept soundly for the first time in years, with Buddy curled at the foot of my bed.

The next morning, I was packing the last of my personal effects into my car when a black sedan pulled into the driveway. Hector got out, but he wasn't alone. Gladys Morgan emerged from the passenger side, her face grim.

He was bringing in reinforcements. Playing the part of the wronged husband, trying to get Gladys to talk sense into his hysterical, ungrateful wife. He always knew which buttons to push.

"Almeda," Gladys began, her voice strained as she approached me. Hector stood back, a silent, imposing figure of judgment. "Hector told me what happened. Perhaps we can talk about this. Don't make a rash decision."

I looked at my former guardian, the woman I owed so much to, and felt a pang of sadness. She had wanted this to work. But she, like Hector, had no idea what it had cost me.

"There's nothing to talk about, Gladys," I said softly.

Hector finally spoke, his voice laced with the condescending patience of a man who believes he holds all the cards. "Almeda, you've had your little fit. It's over. Now come back inside. Gladys came all this way to mediate."

I almost laughed. Mediate? He thought this was a negotiation. He still didn't get it. He still thought I wanted to be here. He still thought he had any power over me.

But he was about to learn just how wrong he was.