Chapter 2

I was in the kitchen making tea when I heard the front door open. The sound of luggage wheels rolling across hardwood floors made me freeze. I wasn't expecting anyone. Chris had left for work hours ago, and I was alone in what was still legally our home.

"Chris? Is that you?" I called out, setting down my cup.

No answer came. Instead, I heard feminine laughter—light and musical in a way that made my skin crawl.

I stepped into the foyer and stopped dead. Liliana stood there, a suitcase beside her and a weekender bag slung over her shoulder. Chris was nowhere to be seen.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Liliana's eyes widened in that practiced way I'd come to recognize—all innocence and surprise. "Oh! Emory. I didn't expect you to be here." She glanced around as if I were the intruder. "Chris invited me to stay. He said you'd abandoned him."

"Abandoned?" I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue.

"He called this morning," she continued, unzipping her suitcase. "Said you'd left him alone and he needed company." She pulled out a folded sweater and held it to her chest. "I brought some things to make myself comfortable."

Before I could respond, she brushed past me toward the stairs. I followed, watching as she entered our bedroom—my bedroom—and began unpacking her clothes into my dresser drawers.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, grabbing her wrist as she reached for my perfume collection.

"Making space," she replied calmly, pulling away. "Chris said I could use these drawers since you won't be needing them anymore."

I turned to see Chris standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Is this true?" I asked him. "You invited her to move in?"

He shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "You left, Emory. You can hardly expect me to stay here alone."

"I didn't leave. I'm still legally your wife. This is still my home."

"For now," he replied with a dismissive wave.

I watched in stunned silence as Liliana continued rearranging my belongings, moving my photos to make room for hers, adjusting my curtains to "let in more light." With each item she touched, each decision she made about my space, I felt another piece of my dignity slip away.

"I'm packing my things," I announced, moving to the closet.

Liliana followed me like a shadow, her presence suffocating as I pulled out my suitcases.

"Oh, Emory," she sighed dramatically. "You really should have seen this coming."

I ignored her, folding sweaters into my bag.

"Did you really think he loved you?" she continued, perching on the edge of the bed. "Chris only married you because of your family's money."

I kept packing, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.

"He pities you," she said, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Always has. I've heard him laugh about how desperate you were in college."

My hands stilled on a cashmere sweater—one Chris had given me for Christmas.

"Is that true?" I asked Chris, who was still watching from the doorway.

He said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

"He never loved you," Liliana pressed, sensing my weakness. "Not the way he loves me."

I zipped my suitcase closed with shaking hands. "Defend me," I demanded of Chris. "Say something."

But he just checked his watch and turned away. "I have a meeting in an hour."

As I dragged my suitcase downstairs, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find my father standing there, his expression thunderous.

"Emory," he said, stepping inside and taking in the scene with a single glance. "I came to collect the rest of your things."

"Dad," I breathed, relief washing over me.

He moved past me to confront Chris, who had reappeared at the sound of the doorbell.

"Mr. Carter," Chris began, extending his hand. "This isn't a good time—"

"Clearly," my father interrupted, ignoring the offered hand. "But it's the perfect time for you to explain why you're allowing this... person to rearrange my daughter's belongings."

"Your daughter is leaving," Chris replied coolly. "Liliana needs space for her things."

"My daughter isn't leaving," my father countered. "She's being driven out by your disgraceful behavior."

Chris's face hardened. "This is my house. You have no right—"

"No right?" My father's voice rose. "I have every right. The Carter family built Thompson Enterprises from nothing. We made you."

Liliana stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact," my father replied coldly. "One you would do well to remember."

As the argument escalated, I stood frozen in the hallway, watching my father defend me with a ferocity I hadn't seen in years. For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt a flicker of hope that I might escape after all.