Chapter 3

As I stepped out of the courthouse, the sunlight hit me like a ton of bricks—so bright it made my eyes water.

I held up a hand to shield my face, feeling like I'd finally woken up from a three-year-long nightmare, groggy but free.

Henry was right on my heels, yammering nonstop like a broken record.

"Rachel, I swear to God, cut the drama already," he huffed.

"Just come home with me, and I'll pretend this whole stupid mess never happened. No hard feelings, okay?

"What are you even gonna do out there alone, huh?" He scoffed. "You can't even boil an egg without me—you'll crash and burn the second you're on your own."

His words used to feel like a knife through the heart, sharp and unforgiving.

Back then, I would've crumbled, begged him to take me back, scared of being alone.

But now? It was just white noise—annoying, but meaningless.

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to face him, my voice steady as a rock.

"Henry, we're divorced."

I held up the divorce decree, waving it slowly so he couldn't miss it—couldn't pretend it wasn't real.

His eyes flickered to the paper, a split second of surprise crossing his face, but he quickly shook it off, slipping back into that lazy, indifferent attitude like it was nothing.

"Please—that's just a lousy piece of paper. We can get it annulled tomorrow, no big deal."

"I'm not going back," I said, calm but firm. "And from now on, stay out of my life. Got it?"

"Your life?" Henry barked out a laugh, like I'd just told the dumbest joke he'd ever heard. "Come on, Rachel—wasn't your whole world wrapped around me? Without me, you've got squat. No life, no money, no nothing."

I took a deep breath, biting back the urge to snap at him—there was no point in wasting my breath on someone this clueless.

"Goodbye, Mr. Stanton."

I turned on my heel and hailed a taxi, my fingers trembling just a little—not from fear, but from excitement.

"Rachel!" Henry shouted after me, his voice cracking with anger, like he couldn't believe I was walking away.

I didn't glance back, not even once. I swung open the taxi door and slid in.

Through the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of him—frozen in place, his face red with fury, staring daggers as the cab pulled away.

No regret, no sadness—just the seething anger of a man who couldn't stand being told "no."

When I got back to Tina's apartment, she was sprawled on the couch, tub of ice cream in one hand, remote in the other, binge-watching some trashy reality show.

The second she saw the divorce decree, she shot up off the couch like a rocket.

"No way in hell! You actually did it?!" Tina screamed, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

She snatched the paper from my hand, flipped it open, and let out a cheer so loud it could've woken the neighbors.

"Yes! Divorced! Finally free from that loser! Girl, you're out of the gutter and back in the game—tonight, we're going out, getting wasted, and living like there's no tomorrow!"

Tina's excitement was contagious, and for the first time in years, that heavy weight in my chest started to lift—slowly, but surely.

"Alright," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips, feeling lighter than I had in ages.

That night, Tina dragged me to the hottest bar in the city.

The bar was chaos in the best way—music blaring so loud it vibrated in your bones, neon lights flashing every color of the rainbow, and people on the dance floor letting loose like their lives depended on it.

It was alive, buzzing with energy—everything my old life had been missing.

That was the kind of place Henry would've banned me from stepping foot in, calling it "trashy" and "full of lowlifes."

Truth was, he just hated not having me under his thumb, not being able to control every part of my life.

Tina flagged down the bartender and ordered me the strongest drink on the menu.

"Tonight, we're not leaving sober," she grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "We're gonna drink until every single crappy memory of that jerk is gone—poof, just like that."

I grabbed the glass and knocked it back in one shot.

The liquor burned down my throat, hot and sharp, like a fire lighting me up from the inside.

It stung, but it felt amazing—like all the pent-up anger, sadness, and frustration I'd been holding onto for three years was pouring out with that one drink.

We kept drinking, kept talking, just letting everything out.

I spilled my heart to her—everything I'd been through.

How I'd turned down a guaranteed spot in grad school just to be with Henry, how I'd become a glorified maid—cooking and cleaning for him every single day—how I'd bitten my tongue every time he chose Joanna over me, every time he made me feel like an afterthought.

Tina was so mad she looked like she was going to flip the bar table over.

"Rachel, you're such a fool! A total, utter fool!" she practically yelled, her voice shaking with anger.

"Look at what you did to yourself for that tool! Was it worth it? Was he ever worth giving up your dreams for?

"You know, back in the day, whenever Mr. King talked about you, he'd get this sad, wistful look," Tina said, her voice softening a little. "He always said you were the most talented student he'd ever had—said you were gonna take the jewelry design world by storm."

Mr. King...

The name felt like a distant memory, like it belonged to someone else's life.

Once, my dream was to become a world-class jewelry designer, to launch my own brand, to see my work worn by people all over the world.

But it had been so long since I'd picked up a pencil to sketch, so long since I'd even thought about that dream—it felt like a distant memory.

"It's not too late," Tina said, squeezing my hand tightly, her eyes blazing with determination. "Rachel, you're only twenty-five. Your life's just getting started. Cut that loser out of your life for good, then go get back everything you lost—one step at a time. You've got this."

One step at a time.

Her words cut through the fog in my head like a beam of light.

Why should I throw away my life for someone who never cared about me? Why should I let his stupidity ruin my dreams? I needed to pick up the pieces, to get back everything I'd given up.

I drank a lot that night.

And I cried—hard.

It was like I was washing away three years of pain, three years of being someone I wasn't, in one night.

When I woke up the next morning, my head was throbbing like someone had hit it with a hammer, but my heart felt lighter than air—like a huge weight had been lifted.

The first thing I did was dig out my old portfolio from the bottom of my suitcase, dust it off, and start going through it—page by page, sketch by sketch.

Then I took a deep breath and dialed Jonathan King's number.

My palms were sweating bullets the second the line started ringing.

"Hello? Who's calling?"

His familiar, gruff yet warm voice came through the line, and my eyes instantly stung with tears.

"Mr. King, it's me... Rachel," I said, my voice trembling.

There was a pause on the other end, then he let out a loud, joyful laugh.

"Rachel? You little rascal! You finally remembered me, huh? Where the hell have you been?"

Hearing his voice—so familiar, so kind—was all it took for the floodgates to open.

"Mr. King, I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry I disappeared," I sobbed.

"Silly girl, don't apologize," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. "As long as you're back, that's all that matters."

We talked for a long time, catching up on everything.

I told him about the divorce, about how I wanted to get back into design—how I wanted to pick up my dream again.

He didn't press for details, didn't make me feel bad. Instead, he said something that made my heart skip a beat: his studio was looking for a chief designer, and he wanted me to take the job.

After hanging up the phone, I hugged it to my chest, tears streaming down my face—happy tears, this time.

Tina watched me from the doorway, her smile brighter than the sun.

"See? I told you—gold always shines. Henry's just a blind idiot; he never knew how good he had it."

On my first day at the studio, I went shopping and picked out a brand-new outfit—something professional, something that felt like "me."

I settled on a tailored cream suit that fit like a glove, making me look poised and confident.

I did my makeup carefully, pulled my long hair up into a sleek high bun, and looked in the mirror.

The woman staring back at me was calm, confident, her eyes shining with hope and excitement for the future.

She felt familiar, yet entirely new—this was the real Rachel, the one I'd buried for three years.

Everyone at the studio was warm and welcoming.

They all knew I was Jonathan's star student, so they treated me with curiosity and genuine kindness.

I settled into my new role in no time, throwing myself into my work—sketching designs, picking out materials, bringing my ideas to life.

The skills I'd neglected for so long came back slowly, little by little, like riding a bike.

I felt like a wilted plant that finally got water and sunlight—slowly coming back to life, blooming once more.

Life got so busy with work that I didn't even have time to think about Henry.

I figured our paths would never cross again, but fate had other plans.

One day, I had to attend a high-end business cocktail party for a design project—one that could take my career to the next level.

And there, in the middle of the crowd, I saw him again.