Chapter 2
Andrew stormed in, kicking the door open, as I was taking my time dusting an ancient vase on the bookshelf.
I'd won it at an auction two years ago, and he'd mocked me for dropping hundreds of thousands on some worthless old vase.
He never got art. All he cared about was the kind of vanity that was all about money and status.
"Giselle, are you fucking crazy?" he roared as he stormed up to me, his face dark with rage, eyes bloodshot, and slammed his phone down on the coffee table in front of me.
The screen was filled with screenshots from Alia's neighborhood group chat, explicit photos, and vicious insults flooding the chat box.
"Do you have any idea what this is doing to my reputation?" he screamed, spittle flying as he yelled.
I could smell the lingering mix of tobacco, booze, and another woman's perfume on him.
See? He didn't say a word about his betrayal, just obsessed over his damn reputation.
I put down the cloth and picked up the vase, polished until it gleamed, holding it up to the light, admiring it.
"Your reputation?" I said, not even bothering to look up, my voice as flat as if I were talking about the weather. "The reputation you earned by screwing around with her in bed has nothing to do with me."
"You," Andrew growled, his chest heaving with rage. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight that it felt like he was trying to crush my bones.
"Fix this, now. Go tell them it's all a misunderstanding. And apologize to Alia," he barked, still trying to order me around.
After five years of marriage, he was used to being in control, used to my compliance and silence.
I finally lifted my eyes, staring him down without flinching.
There was nothing left of the warmth, the love, or even the anger and bitterness I once had for him. All that remained was a cold, unfamiliar look and a chill that made him realize he was facing someone he no longer knew.
"Andrew, what gives you the right to order me around?" I asked.
Andrew was caught off guard. In five years, I'd never looked at him this way or talked to him like this before.
His fury stalled, giving way to pure shock and disbelief. "You've ruined Alia. She's just a clueless young girl who just graduated. She doesn't know a thing," he yelled, still making excuses for his side chick and dumping all the blame on me.
He was always like this. His selfishness knew no bounds.
I let out a quiet laugh, and just like that, he let go of my wrist without even realizing it.
"Ruined her? No," I said, slowly tracing the red marks he'd left on my skin. "I'm helping her get famous. Look, now everyone in her neighborhood knows, and soon, her colleagues will too. She's your favorite, Andrew. She ought to thank me."
My words were like barbed daggers, hitting him right where it hurt.
He completely lost it, lashing out and aiming a slap at my face.
I stood my ground, not dodging at all. But as I stepped back, my other hand was already up, phone camera trained on him.
On the screen, I caught his twisted, furious face and raised hand.
"Hit me," I said as I stared at him, my voice quiet, but every word clear to be heard. "Go on. Do it. I swear, the next juicy headline will be a front-page shot of you, Andrew, beating your wife."
His hand froze mid-air. It was just a few inches from my face, so close that I could feel the wind from his slap.
The fury in his eyes melted away the moment he saw the phone camera, replaced by shock and raw, undeniable fear. He stared at me like he was seeing me for the very first time.
Yeah, he never really knew me at all. In his eyes, I was just some docile, boring accessory he could keep at home and a convenient trophy wife to show off and take care of his every need.
He never imagined that the "dead fish" he thought I was would ever bear her teeth.
Slowly, inch by inch, he let his hand fall back down.
I saw the fear and confusion swirling in his eyes, and I knew that he'd lost control of the whole game now.
I was the chess master here, and he, and his hot-headed little side piece, were just pawns on my board.