Chapter 4
At his desk, Mark was visibly tense, the veins on his forehead almost popping.
He messaged me.
He started all calm, but went off the rails before I knew it.
[Babe, are you ditching me?]
[Come on, speak up. Where are you right now?]
[Nora, don't make me hunt you down myself.]
[You know the price of betraying me.]
From sunrise to sunset, he kept sending messages, desperate for a reply.
But no matter how many times he checked, the chat stayed silent.
Mark's eyes were bloodshot, burning with frustration.
The moment Mark grabbed Claire's ass, I knew what was about to go down.
I spun around and bolted without looking back, but somehow, I was pulled right back.
The camera flipped on. Even with all that jerky movement, Mark's glare burned through the lens, sharp and unmistakable.
Lost in reckless desire and chaos, he let out a slow trail of smoke, jaw set in ruthless revenge.
Mark taunted, "Keep those eyes wide open, Nora.
"You thought I was still that sad puppy trailing behind you, begging for attention? All these years, day and night, I've been waiting for you to see I've got someone else.
"Listen up. This time, I'm the one coming out on top."
I shut my eyes, powerless to do anything about it.
The wet, tangled noises of their bodies kept tormenting my ears, never letting up.
Claire knew how to ignite Mark's desire.
She kept calling out my name as she wanted to curse me.
Claire smirked, "Aren't you worried about someone snapping pics of us right now?
"Seriously, why does hearing Nora's name make you more horny?
"She is so dumb. How would she ever figure out that the money you dump at home every month is worth less than what you hand to some beggar on the street?
"Tsk, even someone that stupid managed to make you a cuckold, Mark. I mean..."
I couldn't stand listening anymore.
But Mark soaked up every second of it as this twisted mess was his way to vent all his rage.
He clamped his hands around Claire's waist and crashed his mouth down on hers, fierce and possessive.
Mark spat, "So what? She's still head over heels for me.
"I'm warning you. If she ever finds out I've got ten billion dollars sitting in my account and she blows up, it'll be hell for you."
Mark had no clue I wouldn't kick up any drama in front of him ever again.
The cops were already bagging up my corpse.
Family members, all on edge, stepped up one by one to identify the bodies.
But every single one of them shook their heads, saying it wasn't her.
The person who should have claimed my remains turned his back and walked away.
At that point, there wasn't a single soul left who remembered I'd ever been here.
*****
The car pulled up to the most luxurious river-view penthouse downtown.
I drifted into the house behind Mark, feeling like I didn't even exist.
That same sour ache squeezed my heart all over again.
I remembered when this place first hit the market four years ago.
I'd tip my head back, watching that real estate promo on repeat, lost in longing.
Mark was never the kind who'd kill my hope.
He glanced at the screen and started peeling grapes for me.
He said gently, "You like it? I'll try my best—"
I dropped the promo ad and shook my head.
I started counting out all the negatives on my fingers.
I said, "Downtown? Forget it. No trees, super noisy, and the light pollution is ridiculous.
"Mark, if you want to get ripped off, be my guest, but I'm not signing up for that."
What I didn't know was that his company had already scored a big startup grant from Avery City, transforming everything almost overnight.
He was already sitting on a fortune worth hundreds of millions, a breakout star in the business world.
We'd still find ourselves gawking at the strawberries in the shop window every winter, unable to tear our eyes away.
And come summer, we'd agonize for hours over whether we should buy a watermelon.
The river-view penthouse was always a pipe dream for us. Reality was a cramped one-hundred-square-foot apartment up in the north end of town.
That place was bought with every single cent we scraped together in our joint account.
Dusty and disheveled, we hugged tightly in that bare little apartment, marveling that we'd made it this far.
"Mark, we finally have a home," I whispered.
Finally, we could stop living like fugitives, always on the run and hiding in the shadows.
I never realized it was only ever my dream alone.
If the doctor was right about my condition, my cancer had already started quietly lurking inside me that year.
With a two-hour commute every day, I'd get so hungry my stomach would twist itself into knots.
I'd pass out from the pain on the bus, only for the waves of people shoving by to jar me back to reality.
Dragging my weary body home, I'd slip on an apron and get dinner started, no matter how drained I felt.
Whenever Mark pushed open the door, there I was, always smiling.
I spent four long years living like that.
Four years later, I found myself standing in Mark's new home, one he now shared with another woman.
This place was the exact dream house I used to fantasize about.
But there was no space for me in it.