Chapter 37
The room fell silent the second I spoke. Everyone turned to stare at me like I’d lost my mind. And maybe I had.
What kind of wife claps for her husband singing a love song with another woman? A smart one–because I had a plan. Jared told me not to bring up divorce again, so I’d just nudge things along another way.
Tracy was running out of time. She wanted my place badly. If she turned up the pressure on Jared, he’d give it a deep thought and cave eventually. And when he did, he’d come to me with that polite, detached tone and ask for a divorce–just like last time.
In my previous life, he’d offered me the villa, 8% of his company shares, and some prime commercial properties. The only thing he wouldn’t compromise on was our daughter’s custody. On paper, it was more than enough to set me up for life.
Funny how I didn’t care about the money then. All I wanted was him. I truly believed holding onto that marriage meant security—that as long as I had him and his wealth, I’d be happy.
But life had a cruel way of teaching lessons. It wasn’t sudden disasters that wore me down, but the slow erosion of countless sleepless nights, the constant anxiety gnawing at my insides.
Before long, I had been barely holding myself together. Sunshine lost its warmth. I withdrew from friends, unable to bear their sympathetic glances, and avoided family gatherings, terrified they’d notice how fragile I’d become.
“Victoria, let’s go.” Jared’s voice snapped me back. My applause must have pissed him off because he snatched his blazer and strode out without another word.
I set down my snacks, took a slow sip of my coffee, and gave the room a breezy wave. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“Mr. Holcomb, you’re leaving so soon?” Tracy rushed to the door, her face falling like a disappointed puppy.
Jared barely glanced back. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I got to go back and check on my daughter.” Then he disappeared into the elevator, leaving me to trail behind at my own pace.
Tracy had always been good at keeping her mask in place–cool, collected, untouchable. But for just a second, when our eyes met, I saw it: raw resentment. The kind that burns slow but deep.
I just sneered. Go ahead. Lose your temper. Let him see the real you.
Looked like if I didn’t make a scene, she would. And I couldn’t wait to watch it happen.
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing us in silence. Then, out of nowhere, Jared pulled out a cigarette.
He bent to light it, but on the next floor, a woman stepped in holding her kid’s hand. Without hesitation, Jared snapped the cigarette in half and crumpled it in his fist.
That was the thing about Jared–he’s got real class: manners, decency, the kind of guy who wouldn’t dream of smoking around a child.
Maybe that was why it stung so much in my previous life. I’d let myself go, drowning in motherhood while he moved forward. If one stopped growing in a marriage, the other left. And that was exactly what happened.
Back then, I’d packed on nearly 150 pounds. My height could only hide so much. Then I saw Tracy–all birdlike wrists and effortless poise–and became convinced that was what Jared craved.
So I starved myself down to skin and bones, matching her fragile frame pound for pound, only to discover thinness didn’t bring strength. The hunger left me gaunt and ghostly, my energy sapped to nothing.