Chapter 3
Just then, Richard walked in.
Rage burned through me.
I grabbed a glass and threw it at him. "Richard! I am not the homewrecker! She is! I want a divorce!" I yelled.
He dodged the glass and lunged at me, his hands closing around my throat.
I choked, my eyes bulging, tears of pain streaming down my face, but he didn't soften.
Only when I was seconds from blacking out did he let go.
"Calm now?" he asked. "Try that again, and I'll make sure it hurts more.
"A little drama is fine, Lily, but this is getting annoying. Stop with these cheap tricks to get my attention.
"You're madly in love with me, and I need a wife who knows her place. We both get what we want. What's the problem?"
He glanced at the divorce agreement on my computer screen and scoffed.
"You really want a divorce? You think you have the guts for that? You have no job. Who are you going to depend on if not me?
"Be a good girl. Once I'm done playing, I'll clear your name."
I was still coughing, trying to get my breath back, but he paid no attention.
"Vivian is very upset. She wants a big wedding to make her happy. And you will be there. You will apologize to her, in person, and then she might forgive me."
Before he left, he turned back.
"It's up to you if you come or not. But if Vivian isn't happy, I won't hesitate to give you another little punishment."
After he was gone, my vision was still swimming in black spots.
I started to laugh, a hysterical, broken sound that turned into sobs.
That night, a new story hit the trending topics, one Richard had clearly paid for: [The playboy has finally settled down, with Mr. Hughes spending 300 million dollars on a wedding of the century just to win back his wife.]
The comments flooded in, pushing the story to the top of the feed. People were already creating fan accounts for them as a couple.
[Real love always wins! That other woman was clearly the problem! A famous TV host being a secret homewrecker? So trashy.]
[Has Lily ever even seen a man before? So desperate. I hate homewreckers. She should just die.]
[Her mom died young, right? No one to raise her properly. No wonder she has no class.]
After reading the comments, I collapsed by the trash can, gagging, wishing I could vomit up my own organs.
In a hazy daze, I remembered Richard, kneeling on one knee, his ears bright red as he nervously slipped the ring on my finger and swore he would love me forever.
When I finally lifted my head, the nausea burned in my stomach, but my heart finally went cold. The sorrow was gone.
Suddenly, everything about Richard seemed utterly meaningless.
My phone buzzed. It was a text message.
[I saw what you sent. When can we meet?]
The story stayed at the top of the trending list for days.
The number one topic was Richard and Vivian's wedding of the century.
Coming in at number two was the headline of the fabricated confession. According to the post, I had admitted to being a homewrecker.
A few people online started to question Richard, pointing out that he had been the one to cheat.
He responded with a video.
"Yes, I made a mistake," he said. "But please, do not attack Vivian.
"She is kind and gentle. She can't handle this. I will take full responsibility.
"All I hope is that on our wedding day, you will all give her your most sincere blessings."
The video worked. The few dissenting voices fell silent, replaced by a chorus of praise for his "honesty" and "integrity."
Then, they turned on me with renewed ferocity, calling me a shameless slut who seduced married men.
I shut my phone, feeling nothing but sheer ridicule for the spectacle he was putting on.
That night, Richard came home.
He sat across from me, cleared his throat, and said, "The wedding is the day after tomorrow. Be there."
The day after tomorrow marked the day my mother passed away.
I shot to my feet, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"I can't. I'm visiting my mother.
"And when are you going to sign the divorce papers?"
He ignored the question of divorce completely.
He scoffed, "Your mother's been dead for years. What's the point? Vivian's parents will be there. You can pay your respects to her mother instead."
I thought I was numb, but his words were a fresh stab to the heart.
When he saw I wasn't going to give in, he pulled out my mother's locket.
"This was your mother's, wasn't it? If you don't come, Vivian will get upset, and then things might happen to it."
I clenched my jaw, the rage building. Just as I was about to lose it, my phone buzzed, pulling me back from the brink.
I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to take a deep breath. I calmly glanced at the new message and looked up at him.
"Richard, are you seriously telling me you want me to stand up in front of all those reporters and give Vivian my blessing?" I asked.
He chuckled, "Of course."
As he was leaving, he turned back, barking, "See? Dead people's things can still be useful.
"I trust you'll say the right things the day after tomorrow. For your own sake."