Chapter 2
Andrew was stunned by his family's intense reaction.
Whatever toughness he'd been holding onto vanished in an instant, leaving only panic and pale confusion—like a balloon suddenly popped.
He instinctively glanced at Vanessa beside him.
Vanessa's brows knitted slightly, her full, red lips pressed into a thin line, and a flicker of impatience and disappointment flashed in her eyes.
That subtle change in her expression stabbed into Andrew's eyes like a needle.
His lips trembled and his Adam's apple jerked with every nervous swallow, until he finally dropped his head, beaten.
His voice was almost too soft to hear, swamped with defeat. "Please, Susan, don't do this... I didn't mean it..."
He scrambled to grab back the torn scraps of paper from Susan's hand, squeezing them tight in his palm.
His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist around the scraps, like he was holding a hot coal.
"Fine, I take it back, alright?" His voice rasped, "We'll... we'll talk about this later."
The scene he had so carefully planned fell apart, buried under his family's fury and Susan's ruthless action.
All that remained at the table was a suffocating hush, mixed with the lingering greasy smell of food that had long since grown cold.
In the lower right corner of my sight, lines of translucent text popped up out of nowhere—drifting and fading like jellyfish—along with the virtual roar of an eager crowd.
I closed my eyes for a second, my long lashes hiding the storm behind them.
I pushed down the coppery taste rising in my throat, fear pressing hard against my composure. Under the soft tablecloth, my fingertips dug deep into my palm—sharp pain was the only anchor keeping me sane.
*****
I went back to the master bedroom on the second floor.
Heavy curtains blocked the moonlight outside.
Darkness wrapped around me like thick ink.
The room still smelled faintly of Andrew's aftershave, which felt like an invisible taunt right then.
My phone screen suddenly lit up in the dark, the pale blue glow showing my pale face.
It was my best friend, Olivia Lane.
Her name flashed wildly on the screen.
"Charlotte, are you alright?" The moment I answered, Olivia's voice hit me—urgent and furious, like a bomb about to go off.
She caught her breath, her voice low with a tooth-grinding kind of hate. "Andrew is a jerk. Did that bitch put a spell on him or what?
"I had someone look into it. Vanessa Grant is a terrible person.
"She's got a trash reputation. She'd do anything to get promoted.
"Almost everyone in our circle knows the dirty things she's done."
Olivia's anger was like molten lava, burning through the phone and straight into my ears.
She went on, "Don't be stupid. Don't agree to a divorce.
"You can't let that pair of jerks get away with it.
"Even if you do divorce him, you have to make them suffer.
"Drag their names through the mud and kick them out with nothing."
Revenge? How I wanted it.
My nails sank deeper into my palm, bringing a clean, sharp pain.
But my mind kept replaying scenes like old film—frame after frame.
Back when we were just teenagers, Andrew awkwardly tucked the first wildflower into my hair; the petals still had morning dew.
In college, he worked late and got red eyes just to buy me a not-so-expensive birthday necklace.
The cool metal rested against my collarbone, and his smile outshone the sun.
When Lily was born, he held that tiny, wrinkled bundle and cried like a child.
He kept whispering promises in my ear, voice choked but steady, "Charlotte, I will love you and Lily forever."
Those promises, soaked with the heat of time, wrapped around the hatred that wanted to burst out of me—tight as a vine, choking my breath.
"Olivia..." My voice came out dry and rough, like sandpaper scraping wood, carrying a weakness that even I couldn't stand. "Don't you think... maybe he has his reasons?"
"Reasons?" Olivia's voice shot up, sharp with disbelief, so loud it hurt my ears. "Charlotte, wake up!
"He threw the divorce papers in your face!
"He brought that homewrecker into your house and wasn't ashamed at all.
"And you're still trying to make excuses for him?"
Her voice trembled with rage. "If Andrew still had even a bit of love left for you, he wouldn't treat you like this.
"Reasons? Please. He's just lost his mind over that bitch!
"Feeling sorry for a man like that will only ruin your life. Get a grip."
That word—reasons—echoed in my head like a curse.
Logic told me Olivia was right.
Her anger was real, burning, and justified.
But somewhere deep inside, that pathetic little ember called love still refused to die—flickering faintly in the ashes, stubborn and dim.