“I want a divorce.”

He froze. His hand, which had been hovering near Danica’s back, dropped to his side. For a second, the silence was absolute. Even Danica stopped her performative sobbing, her eyes widening as she looked between us.

“You’re… you’re kidding me, right?” Nathan stammered, a nervous laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Karylle, stop it. That’s not funny.”

“Does it look like I’m laughing?” I asked.

Fear flickered in his gaze. It wasn’t the fear of losing me—I knew that now. It was the fear of the scandal. The fear of the prenup. The fear of his grandfather.

“You can’t just divorce me,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. He took a step toward the bed, looming over me. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? We’re the golden couple. The merger depends on us. My grandfather…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Grandpa would have a stroke. He wouldn’t accept it.”

“I don’t care about your grandfather,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. “And I don’t care about the merger. I care that my son is dead, and it was all because of you!”

He took a deep breath, visibly composing himself. He smoothed his tie, adjusted his cuffs, and put the mask back on. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch, once the only thing that could ground me, now made my skin crawl.

“Baby, look at me,” he cooed. “You’re just emotional. It’s the hormones. The grief. You’re not thinking clearly. You don’t want a divorce. Think about us. Think about everything we’ve built.”

“What have we built, Nathan?” I asked softly. “A cemetery?”

He winced. “I know I haven’t been perfect. I’ve been busy. Stressed. But I can change. We can go on a date? Just the two of us. Once you’re out of here, I’ll take you to that Italian place you like. We can start over. We can try for another baby.”

The audacity of it stole the air from my lungs. As if my son was a broken vase he could just replace at the store.

“You love me, Karylle,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ve always loved me. You wouldn’t throw that away over a misunderstanding.”

“What about me?” I whispered. “Do you love me, Nathan?”

“Of course I do,” he said.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.

It was a soft kiss. Gentle. The kind of kiss that used to make my toes curl and my heart race. But now? It tasted like ashes. It tasted like Danica’s cheap perfume. It tasted like a lie.

He pulled back, smiling that charming, boyish smile that had fooled everyone.

“See?” he said. “We’re fine.”

I felt a bubble of laughter rise in my chest. It wasn’t happy laughter. It was dark, jagged, and bordering on hysterical.

Of course I do.

The lie was so smooth, polished by years of practice.

My mind drifted back, pulled by the undertow of memory to where this all began.

Our marriage hadn’t started with love. It started with a contract. A handshake between two old men in a cigar-filled study. My grandfather and his grandfather, merging empires through blood. I was twenty. He was twenty-two.

I had been terrified. But I had also been secretly thrilled. I had watched Nathan from afar for years at society galas. He was the prince of our social circle—handsome, charismatic, untouchable.

But there was always Danica.

She wasn’t just his secretary then. When her father died, leaving nothing but debt, Nathan’s family took her in while her brother Martin, who is Nathan’s best friend, tried to build their company again. She lived in the guest house. She was always there.

In the early years of our marriage, Nathan was aloof. He was polite, but cold. He treated me like a roommate he was forced to live with. He spent all his time with Danica and her brother. I was the outsider in my own home.

But then, Danica left. She went to Paris for fashion school. And for two glorious years, she was gone.

That was when the ice melted. Without her constant presence whispering in his ear, Nathan finally looked at me. He saw me. We started talking. We started laughing. He started coming home early.

I remembered the first time he brought me flowers—white lilies. I remembered the trip to the Maldives where we made love under the stars, and he held me afterward, whispering that he was glad he married me.

I thought I had won. I thought patience and love had conquered his heart. I thought we were finally a real marriage.

Then, six months ago, Danica came back.

She returned with a failed degree and a sob story, and Nathan immediately hired her as his executive assistant.

And just like that, the light in our marriage flickered and went out.

The betrayal didn’t happen all at once. It was a slow, agonizing erosion.

Betrayal number one: He forgot my birthday because Danica had a flat tire and needed rescuing.

Betrayal number ten: He missed our anniversary dinner because Danica was "depressed" about her ex and needed a friend.

Betrayal number fifty: I found a receipt for a diamond bracelet in his pocket. I never received it. Two days later, I saw it on Danica’s wrist. She claimed she bought it herself.

Ninety-nine times.

I had swallowed my pride. I had smiled at galas while she clung to his arm. I had cooked dinners that went cold while he was "working late" at the office with her. I had convinced myself that it was just friendship, that I was being paranoid, that he loved me.

But lying here, with the ghost of his lips on mine, the fog cleared.

He never loved me. He loved the convenience of me. He loved the inheritance I secured. He loved that I kept his grandfather happy while he played house with the woman he really wanted.

I looked past Nathan’s shoulder. Danica was watching us. Her eyes were narrowed, calculating. She wasn’t looking at Nathan; she was looking at me, trying to gauge if I was still a threat.

If I pushed for a divorce now, while I was bedridden and weak, they would destroy me. Nathan would manipulate the narrative. He would paint me as the unstable, grieving wife. He would use his grandfather’s influence to block me.

I needed to be smart. I needed to be like the old Karylle—pliable, sweet, and stupid.

I needed to make them think they had won, so they wouldn’t see the knife coming until I buried it in their backs.

I let out a long, shaky breath and lowered my eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just the grief talking.”

I felt Nathan’s body sag with relief. The tension evaporated from the room.

“I knew it,” he exhaled, patting my hand. “I knew you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m just… tired, Nathan,” I said, closing my eyes to hide the hatred burning in them. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”

“Of course,” he said, standing up briskly. He was eager to leave. Eager to get away from the depressing hospital room and back to his life. “You rest. I’ll handle the doctors. I’ll handle everything.”

“Okay,” I murmured.

“And Karylle?” he said. “Don’t mention the D-word again. It upsets everyone. We’re going to get through this. Together.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

He nodded, satisfied. He opened the door and ushered Danica out.

I reached under my pillow and pulled out the phone. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in ten years. A number I swore I would never need.

It rang once. Twice.

“Hello?” A sharp, elegant voice answered.

“Mother,” I said. My voice was raspy, broken, but underneath it was steel. “You said…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You said once that if I ever came to my senses, you’d be there. You said you wanted to make up for leaving me and father behind.”

“I did,” my mother said, her voice softening. “I still do. What do you need?”

“Help me,” I whispered. “Process my immigration papers. Get me a visa. Get me a flight. I’m done, Mother. I want to leave. And I want to disappear.”

“It is a tragedy,” Arthur said, his voice gravelly. He set down his wine glass with a heavy clink. “A damn tragedy. My great-grandson. Gone before he even took a breath.”

He looked at me, his gaze softening. “I am truly sorry, Karylle. I know how much you wanted that child.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” I said quietly, keeping my eyes on my plate. I pushed a pea around with my fork. I had barely eaten a bite.

Then, Arthur’s gaze snapped to Nathan, and the softness vanished. It was replaced by the cold fury of a titan.

“But what I cannot understand,” Arthur growled, “is how this happened. I was told you were at the company party. I was told there were drivers available. Why in God’s name was your secretary driving my granddaughter-in-law while intoxicated?”

Danica, sitting across from me, shrank into her chair. She was wearing a modest black dress, looking every bit the repentant sinner. She had been invited because she was "family," a decision that made my stomach churn.

“It was a mistake, sir,” Danica whispered, her voice trembling. “I… I thought I was fine to drive. I just wanted to help Karylle get home.”

“Help her?” Arthur slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware jump. “You put her in the hospital! You killed my heir! You call that help?”

“Grandpa, please,” Nathan interjected, leaning forward. His jaw was tight. “Calm down. It’s not doing anyone any good to point fingers. Danica feels terrible. She’s been beating herself up about it for days. It was an accident. The roads were slick.”

“The roads were fine!” Arthur barked. “The driver was the problem. Why didn’t you drive, Nathan? Or hire a car?”

“I had to stay back with the investors,” Nathan said smoothly. “You know how important the merger is. I couldn’t leave.”

“So you sent your pregnant wife home with a drunk girl?” Arthur shook his head in disgust.

“I told her I would drive,” I said.

The table went silent.

I didn’t look up. I kept staring at my plate. “I asked for the keys. I told them I was sober. But Danica insisted. She said no one drives her car but her.”

“Is that true?” Arthur demanded, glaring at Danica.

Danica’s face crumbled. “I… I don’t remember saying that. I was just… I was trying to be nice! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

She burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. It was a masterful performance.

Nathan immediately reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “See? She’s a mess, Grandpa. Karylle, stop making it worse. She didn’t mean to.”

“She didn’t mean to,” Arthur repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. He looked from Nathan to Danica, his eyes narrowing. “Just make sure this won’t happen again! I only want a grandchild, with Karylle, no one else,” he said as if warning Nathan of things he knew he was doing.

When the meal finally ended, I stood up immediately. I made it to the foyer before I heard footsteps running behind me.

“Karylle! Wait!” It was Danica.

“Karylle, please,” she panted. “You have to forgive me. I can’t stand you hating me. We used to be friends.”

“We were never friends, Danica,” I said coldly. “You were just my husband’s best friend’s sister.”

Her face hardened for a split second, the mask slipping, before she resumed her pleading look. She reached out to grab my arm.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, pulling away.

I turned to leave, but Danica suddenly stumbled back. She let out a sharp cry and fell to the floor, landing on her hip with a dramatic thud.

“Ouch!” she cried out.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Nathan appeared from the dining room, rushing over. He saw Danica on the floor and me standing over her.

“She pushed me!” Danica sobbed, clutching her ankle. “I just tried to apologize, and she shoved me!”

I stared at her in disbelief. It was so childish. So petty. And yet, so effective.

Nathan glared at me, his eyes blazing. “Are you serious, Karylle? You’re physically attacking her now? In my grandfather’s house?”

“I didn’t touch her,” I said calmly. “She threw herself on the floor.”

“Oh, come on!” Nathan scoffed. “Why would she do that? Look at her! She’s hurt!” He knelt down and helped Danica up, his arm lingering around her waist a little too long. “You’re out of control. You’re letting your grief turn you into a bitter, vindictive woman.”

“You know what?” I said, my voice quiet. “I’m tired of this game, Nathan.” I took a step closer to him. “Just choose, Nathan. Right now. Choose me or her.”

Nathan froze. He looked at me, then down at Danica, who was clinging to his arm like a limpet. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked trapped.

“I… Karylle, that’s ridiculous,” he stammered. “I can’t choose between my wife and my best friend’s sister. You’re both important to me.”

“That’s an answer,” I said.

I turned and walked out the front door into the cool night air.

I stood on the porch, taking deep gulps of oxygen, trying to stop the tears from falling. I wouldn’t cry for him. Not anymore.

“Karylle?”

A deep, familiar voice came from the shadows near the driveway.

I looked up. Leaning against a sleek black sedan was Martin—Danica’s older brother and Nathan’s best friend.

He looked different than I remembered. He had been away in London for the last year managing the overseas branch. He looked tired, his tie loosened, a cigarette in his hand.

“Martin,” I breathed.

He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. He walked over to me, his expression full of concern.

“I heard about the baby,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I… I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry, Karylle.”

Seeing him—someone who actually knew me, someone who had been kind to me in the early days before Danica poisoned everything—broke my composure. A single tear escaped.

“It’s… it’s been hard,” I whispered.

Martin didn’t hesitate. He pulled me into a hug.

It wasn’t like Nathan’s hugs. It was solid. Safe. He smelled like tobacco and expensive cologne. I buried my face in his shoulder for a moment, allowing myself to be weak.

“I’m sorry about Danica,” he murmured into my hair. “I heard she was driving. I swear to God, Karylle, if I had been here, I never would have let her behind the wheel. She’s… she’s a mess sometimes.”

We stood there for a moment, two people grieving in different ways.

Later that night, back at our house, I was sitting at my vanity, taking off my earrings. The reflection in the mirror showed a woman who looked ten years older than she was.

The door banged open.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, slamming the door behind him. “...outside my grandfather’s house! With Martin!”

I frowned, turning to face him. “We were talking. He was offering his condolences. Unlike you, he actually seemed to care for our baby.”

“Condolences?” Nathan let out a harsh laugh. “Is that what you call it? You were practically climbing him! I saw you hugging him. I saw how you looked at him.”

He marched over to me, gripping the back of my chair. “Are you flirting with Martin? Is that it? You’re trying to get back at me by throwing yourself at my best friend?”

“Flirting?” I stood up, pushing his hand away. “He hugged me because I was crying, Nathan! Because my husband was too busy coddling the woman who killed our child to comfort me!”

“Don’t turn this around!” Nathan yelled. “I saw you! You’ve always had a soft spot for him, haven’t you? Is that why you’re so eager for a divorce? So you can run to him?”

The hypocrisy was suffocating. It was so thick I could taste it.

I looked at him, my eyes narrowing into slits.

“You’re asking me if I’m flirting with Martin?” I asked, my voice deadly calm. “Just because I hugged him? I was being comforted by him?”

I took a step forward, invading his space.

“Well, with what you’re saying… are you admitting that you’re also flirting with Danica?”

Nathan blinked. The anger in his eyes faltered, replaced by a flicker of panic. He took a step back, his defensive posture crumbling into something that looked pathetically like guilt.

“What? No! Of course not!” he sputtered, running a hand through his hair. He let out a nervous, incredulous laugh. “God, Karylle, you’re twisting everything. I’m just… I’m protective, okay? I saw you with another man, and I got jealous. It’s because I love you.”

He reached out, his hands hovering near my shoulders before he pulled me into a hug. I stood rigid in his arms, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into my hair, his voice dropping to that soft, persuasive tone he used to get his way. “I’m just stressed. We both are. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Let’s forget about this,” he said, wiping a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Let’s focus on us. Let’s go prepare something for our baby. A memorial. Something beautiful. And then… when you’re ready… we can try again. We can build the family we always wanted.”

I looked at him, marveling at his audacity. But I was tired. My body ached, my heart was hollow, and I didn’t have the energy to fight him.

So, I forced the corners of my mouth up. It felt like cracking dried clay.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay, Nathan.”

He exhaled, his whole body relaxing. He kissed my forehead. “That’s my girl. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I locked the door and slid down against it, burying my face in my knees.

The next morning, the sun streamed through the sheer curtains, mocking the gloom in my heart. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, when my phone buzzed.

“It’s done,” my mother’s voice came through, crisp and efficient. “The immigration papers are processed. Your visa is approved. I pulled every string I had, Karylle. You have a flight booked to Zurich in three days.”

My heart skipped a beat. Three days.

“Zurich?” I breathed.

“It’s quiet. It’s far. And we have a chalet there no one knows about,” she said. “Are you sure about this? Once you leave, there’s no turning back.”

“I just want out. Thank you, Mother. I will leave as soon as possible.”

The door handle turned.

I froze, hanging up the phone.

“Who was that?” Nathan asked, setting the tray down on the bedside table. His voice was casual, but his eyes were alert. “And what did you mean, ‘I will leave’?”

He walked over to me, his expression darkening. “Are you leaving me, Karylle? Is that what this is? You’re planning something behind my back? Didn’t I say no divorce again? We’re—”

“No, silly,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I was talking to… a travel agent.”

“A travel agent?” He looked skeptical.

“Yes. I was thinking… after everything that’s happened… maybe we need a break. A vacation. Just the two of us. Like you said last night.” I squeezed his hand. “I was thinking we could go away. Somewhere romantic. Maybe Paris? Or Italy?”

The tension drained from his face instantly. A wide smile spread across his lips.

“Oh,” he exhaled, laughing a little. “Oh, thank God. You scared me for a second. I thought… never mind.” He kissed my knuckles. “That’s a wonderful idea, baby. Go on. Let’s leave whenever you want. Book it. Anywhere you want to go. I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Really?” I asked, widening my eyes.

“Really,” he promised. “Anything for you.”

For the next two days, I played the part of the recovering, hopeful wife perfectly. I talked about Italy. I looked at hotels with him. I let him hold my hand.

On the second night—my last night before the flight—Nathan surprised me.

“Get dressed,” he said, coming into the room with a velvet box in his hand. Inside was a diamond necklace. “I got us tickets to The Phantom of the Opera. I know it’s your favorite.”

I stared at the necklace. It was beautiful. Expensive. And it felt like a shackle.

“Thank you,” I said, letting him clasp it around my neck.

We went to the theater. We sat in a private box. The music swelled, the chandelier rose, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself get lost in the story. I remembered when we first saw this show, years ago. I had cried during the final scene, and Nathan had held my hand, wiping my tears.

I looked at him in the dim light. He was watching the stage, his profile sharp and handsome.

Do you love me? I had asked.

Of course I do, he had lied.

Halfway through the second act, during the masquerade scene, Nathan’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.

He frowned, pulling it out. The screen lit up, illuminating his face. I saw the name. Danica.

He read the message, and his jaw tightened. He glanced at me, then back at the phone. He started typing rapidly.

Then, another buzz.

He sighed, a heavy, irritated sound. He turned to me, putting on a regretful face.

“Karylle,” he whispered. “I… I have to go.”

“What?” I asked, though I wasn’t surprised. “Now? In the middle of the show?”

“It’s work,” he lied smoothly. “Emergency with the merger. The investors are freaking out. I have to go handle it.”

“Can’t it wait?” I asked, testing him. “It’s our date night. You promised.”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” he said, standing up and grabbing his coat. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Stay and finish the show. I’ll send the driver back for you.”

He kissed my cheek—a quick, distracted peck—and hurried out of the box without looking back.

I watched the heavy velvet curtain swing shut behind him.

I turned back to the stage. The Phantom was singing about the music of the night, about darkness and despair.

I sat there alone in the private box, the diamond necklace feeling heavy and cold against my skin. The empty seat beside me was a perfect metaphor for my marriage.

I didn’t cry. I was done crying. I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. I had one more call to make before I left for Zurich.

I dialed the number of the shark lawyer my mother had recommended.

“Hello?” a gruff voice answered.

“This is Karylle,” I said, my voice steady and clear over the soaring music of the orchestra. “I’m ready. Draft the divorce papers and send them to me tomorrow.”