"I don't even remember what promise that was," Emerson said casually while playing with Isabelle's hair, his other hand giving her waist a playful pinch, causing her to yelp in surprise. His demeanor was so nonchalant, his actions so frivolous.

Once, he was the guiding light in my life, the one who rescued me from my dysfunctional family, supported my education, and married me. I thought we were destined for happiness together. But seven years later, our journey has reached its end.

Tears streamed down my face like scattered pearls from a broken necklace. I turned and walked away.

As I left, someone asked Emerson, "Aren't you going after her, Emerson?"

He sneered, "She's just throwing a fit. She'll come around."

Over the years, we’d had minor disagreements, and every time, I would inevitably go back. But this time, it wasn't just a fit. Deep down, I knew there was no point in continuing with this marriage.

As I walked through the streets of London, the winter air bit into my skin, cold and unrelenting. Emerson’s driver followed closely in the car behind me.

"Ma'am, please don't be upset. Get in the car; it's freezing," he urged.

"And do you think this is just a fit?" I asked, my voice catching with emotion.

"I’ve always believed that if I haven't done anything wrong, it's not just a fit. Today, I did nothing wrong. Emerson did. This isn't a fit!"

The driver grew impatient. "Ma'am, if I were you, I'd stick with Mr. Gordon. Living in luxury should be enough."

I no longer wanted to engage with him. People in their world all think the same. To them, women are just toys.

I deliberately walked away, making sure the driver didn't tail me. After hailing a cab to head home, I happened to come across Emerson's newest Instagram post. Normally, he's too wrapped up in work to share much online. If I'm remembering right, this is his first update in about two years. It's a picture of him with Isabelle.

They're both smiling at the camera—she with a fresh, sweet charm, and he looking handsome. They seem to complement each other perfectly. The caption read: "Forever love, Saoirse." My fingers froze around the phone, and a knot tightened in my chest.

Once, in Emerson's study, I found a photo tucked away in a drawer. It was of him with another girl. They looked so young, dressed in school uniforms, grinning at the camera. Saoirse had a baby face with tiny dimples, utterly adorable. Just like in the current photo of Isabelle. The resemblance between them was striking.

A friend of Emerson's once mentioned that he was with me because my voice reminded him of Saoirse's. Back then, I refused to believe it, but harsh reality has given me a rude awakening. Now that he's found someone who bears an even closer resemblance to Saoirse, he no longer has any need for me.

When I returned home to pack my things, Emerson and Isabelle came in together. She twirled around in a Victorian-style dress in front of him. "Do I look good, Emerson?"

His eyes were fixed on her. "Call me Em."

Her cheeks went pink, and she lowered her gaze. "Okay," she replied softly.

At that moment, she saw me. "Oh, you're back, sis. It's pretty chilly outside, come on in."

Every word and action made it seem as if she were the lady of the house. I glanced at Emerson. He was lounging on the sofa, sipping coffee, looking calm amidst the spirals of steam. I used to think he was indifferent to others. Now, I was that other.

Without a word, I moved to my room to pack. As I walked by, he chuckled lightly at Isabelle. "Leave a mark for me."

"Sure, Em," she giggled.

My heart shattered completely. I couldn't believe the man who once treated me so tenderly would hurt me over and over again. Clenching the hem of my shirt, I turned and went into the room. Throughout our seven years together, he pampered and indulged me. He always used to say, "I love you." I genuinely believed he meant it.

As I packed, tears streamed down my face. Honestly, accepting that he no longer loves me is something I can't do just yet. Even now, my heart aches for him.

Suddenly, Isabelle barged in, her big, bright eyes blinking at me. "Sis, Em asked you to take me to the room upstairs."

I paused. I knew Emerson too well; he knew I disliked Isabelle and used her to provoke me. Even without seeing him, I could guess what was going through his mind: if I didn't relent, this girl would replace me. He's used this tactic repeatedly over the years. In the past, I would give in, but this time, I wouldn't.

"Can't you walk yourself?" I snapped coldly, closing my suitcase to leave. But she grabbed my hand, her once gleaming eyes turning dark.

"You really think you're the lady of the house, don't you? I'll make sure that's no longer the case."

With a loud "smack," she slapped herself, revealing those dimples with a triumphant grin. "Guess who Emerson will believe?"

Before I could react, she burst into tears. "Please, sis, don't hit me, I'll leave right away…"

It hit me then what she was trying to do. How ridiculous, to use such a transparent trick. Emerson isn't easily fooled; he's not going to fall for her act.

I realized my mistake.

When Emerson Gordon walked in and saw Isabelle Greene crying, he was furious: "Did you hit her?"

"Alice," he continued, "I've always thought you were a submissive woman, ideal for being my wife."

"But now, you've let me down."

My heart clenched painfully, and I let out a bitter laugh. "I'm just as let down by you."

"There's no point in two disappointed people staying together."

With that, I pulled my suitcase and headed for the door.

He stopped me, his voice low and threatening: "Are you sure you want to go? You think you can make it in New York without me?"

I knew what Emerson was capable of. There was someone who had crossed him once, and I never heard or saw that person again in this city. Emerson had the means and influence to ruin anyone.

But I never thought he'd use such threats on me.

"I'll do better without you."

I turned and walked out.

Outside, heavy snowflakes were falling. I remembered how it was snowing like this when Emerson first took me away from my family. I was still in high school then, and I had just gotten into an Ivy League university after much hard work.

My parents hit me and yelled at me, forbidding me from going to college. They said, "Girls don't need that much education."

Then, Emerson showed up unexpectedly, gently draping a coat over my shoulders and asking, "Would you like to come with me?"

In that moment, I felt my heart soften.