Chapter 4

The room went dead silent.

The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Julian stared at me. His expression went from shock, to amusement, and finally to a chilling sneer.

"A divorce?"

He repeated the word, as if tasting a hilarious joke.

"Chloe, have you lost your mind? What are you going to do without me? Your little job pays what, three grand a month? How are you going to support Lily on that?"

He took a step closer, towering over me.

"You think divorce is just a word? Whose name is on the deed of this house? Whose name is on the Tesla? What do you honestly think you're going to get?"

"Besides, do you even have proof? How are you going to prove I took her to that place? Based on the babbling of a three-year-old? You think a judge is going to believe a toddler?"

His voice wasn't loud, but every word hit like a nail being driven into my skull.

He was reminding me. He was threatening me.

You have no proof.

You can't beat me.

"Chloe, I suggest you calm down." He reached out to pat my shoulder. I flinched away.

His hand hovered in the air for a second before he slid it into his pocket.

"Making a scene helps nobody. Do you really want everyone to know your husband paid for hookers? Do you want Lily to grow up with people whispering behind her back? Think about it. Do you want a complete family, or do you just want to throw a temper tantrum?"

He finished speaking, turned around, picked up the ruined sandwich from the floor, and threw it in the trash.

Then, without looking back, he went into the study and slammed the door.

I stood in the living room, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.

Not from fear.

But from rage and humiliation.

He was using the house, the car, the money, and Lily’s future to threaten me. He was using societal judgment to keep me quiet.

He thought I would be afraid.

He thought I had no way out.

He was wrong.

The study door remained closed. Occasionally, I could hear the clicking of his keyboard.

I didn't know what he was doing. Maybe he was strategizing with his sleazy friends, maybe he was looking up divorce laws, or maybe he didn't care at all and was just playing video games.

Whatever he was doing, it had nothing to do with me anymore.

I walked back into my daughter's room and softly closed the door.

Lily was still asleep, her little face pressed against her pillow, her breathing steady and peaceful.

I sat on the edge of her bed, watching her.

I looked at her little nose, her tiny mouth, her long eyelashes, and the small birthmark on her forehead.

This was the child I had risked my life to bring into this world.

During my pregnancy, I suffered from severe preeclampsia. I spent the entire last month in the hospital on an IV, my hands bruised from needle pricks.

I hemorrhaged during childbirth and almost didn't make it off the operating table.

She spent two weeks in the NICU before she could come home. She was so tiny, barely bigger than a kitten. My hands shook whenever I held her, terrified I’d hurt her, yet terrified I’d drop her.

Every sleepless night, every fever, every crying fit—I had endured them all alone.

Where was Julian?

He was on business trips, working overtime, or out networking.

He always had a more important reason not to come home.

He said he brought home the bacon. He said his salary was triple mine, and without him, Lily and I were nothing.

And I had believed him.

I thought he was right. I thought it wasn’t easy for him to work so hard, so I needed to be understanding.

I had been "understanding" for seven years.

And in return, he took the money I helped him save, took our three-year-old daughter, and went to a brothel.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Chloe."

Julian’s voice came from the other side, completely calm, as if nothing had happened.

"I’m heading to the office. I have a dinner with clients tonight, so I might be late."

I heard his footsteps fade, followed by the heavy click of the front door closing.

He was gone.

Acting as if it were just another normal day.

He hadn't even mentioned Lily.

I looked down at my daughter's sleeping face, a dark, dangerous resolve brewing in my chest.