Chapter 3
Michael picked up the document, and one glance was enough to turn his eyes razor-sharp.
"Eva, you want a divorce?" he demanded.
I nodded.
He warned, "Think it through. The second you walk out that door, you won't get a thing."
Beneath his anger, a thread of panic trembled.
I only gave a quiet hum in reply.
Maybe my indifference stung his pride, because his tone turned vicious. "You think I can't live without you? A woman who won't even say my name in bed?"
He knew exactly why I couldn't. He knew.
My nails dug into my palms until they drew blood.
"There are plenty of women dying to take the title of Mrs. Sterling. Since you don't want it," He turned to Luna. "Luna, would you be interested in becoming my wife?"
She covered her chest in shock, joy already shining in her eyes.
"Michael... I... I've always..." Her voice trembled with emotion. "I've always been waiting for you to finally see me."
He shot me a smug glance, waiting for me to break down like I used to, to cry and beg him to love me.
I bit the inside of my mouth raw and looked straight at him.
"See you at city hall in a month." I said.
With that, I left the company and hailed a cab back to my old home.
The familiar smell of mildew was once something I couldn't stand, yet now I found myself craving it.
Before Michael made it big, we had curled up together in that cramped little apartment, less than three hundred square feet, roasting in summer and freezing in winter.
My hands used to swell and crack from the cold.
No matter how exhausted Michael was after work, he still plugged in the heater and boiled me a big pot of ginger tea, carefully adding a spoonful of sugar.
He said, "Drink up, Evie. It'll warm you."
Then he would gently press the leftover ginger slices against the sores on my skin, clumsy but earnest.
When the nights were too cold to sleep, he would hold me tight from behind and whisper promises into my ear, his breath misting white.
He said, "Someday, when I've made money, I'll buy you a big house with heat, Evie. You'll be able to wear dresses in winter too.
"You'll never have to suffer like this again."
In the dark, his eyes used to shine.
I crouched in the corner and cried until I nearly blacked out.
Deciding on divorce had cost me half my life.
When I woke up again, I was in the hospital.
Michael sat there with stubble shadowing his jaw and his expensive shirt wrinkled all over.
The moment he noticed I was awake, he put down the file in his hand and held out a cup of warm water. "Why did you run back to that hellhole? It's filthy and chaotic.
"If your phone hadn't had location services on, nobody would've found you passed out there."
I didn't take the water. I just looked at him, my throat dry. "Why did you save me?"
Counting this, he had saved me three times.
That's driving me crazy.
Michael stared into my eyes, his gaze deep and unreadable.
"Do you really want to die that badly?" he twitched his lip, faintly mocking, "Three years of treatment for severe depression and you're getting worse? I told you long ago that doctor was a quack."
Then he seemed to remember something and leaned closer, his tone turning probing and oppressive.
He asked, "That file you were clutching that day... what was it? A hospital report, right? You went back for a checkup recently."
He really was smart.
Too bad the report saying my depressive symptoms had eased became worthless the moment he called me a dead fish.
Still he kept pressing, his eyes locked on mine. "Where's the report? Let me see it."
If this had happened before, I would have thrown myself into his arms and poured out every fear, grievance, and hurt I had swallowed down.
But now I only slowly turned my head, raised a hand, and pointed toward the door of the hospital room.
Someone was standing there.
It was Luna.
She stood there carefully carrying a garment bag with a neatly pressed men's suit inside.
I recognized it at a glance.
I had custom-made it for him in Valdora last year, and it had been hanging in our walk-in closet ever since.