I was dying from my fear of heights, but my husband, Don Vincent, was busy with his assistant, savoring the latest coffee flown in from Hawaii that morning.
"You're a grown woman, Bella. What's the big deal? You're stuck on a roof, figure it out."
Then he hung up on me.
I collapsed onto the hot tar of the roof, my body shaking uncontrollably before everything went black.
It was two hours before building security found me.
When I got home, I asked Vincent for a divorce.
He rubbed his temples, his patience worn thin, looking at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum.
"Over a cup of coffee? I told you, the heights are all in your head. You’re perfectly safe now. Stop making a scene alright? What's this nonsense about a divorce? I have more important things to deal with. Calm yourself down."
I stared at his back as he left, tears already streaming down my face.
Something important?
Did he really think I couldn't hear his assistant, Sophia, murmuring in the background?
Did he think I didn't know he took her to the last family gathering?
I had loved Vincent for three years. Everyone knew he was the center of my world.
They all thought an orphan like me could never leave him.
But now, all the love I had was eclipsed by a profound, soul-crushing exhaustion.
I was done.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in three long years.
"Uncle, book me a flight to Seattle. I'm ready to leave Vincent."
I was dying from my fear of heights, but my husband, Don Vincent, was busy with his assistant, savoring the latest coffee flown in from Hawaii that morning.
"You're a grown woman, Bella. What's the big deal? You're stuck on a roof, figure it out."
Then he hung up on me.
I collapsed onto the hot tar of the roof, my body shaking uncontrollably before everything went black.
It was two hours before building security found me.
When I got home, I asked Vincent for a divorce.
He rubbed his temples, his patience worn thin, looking at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum.
"Over a cup of coffee? I told you, the heights are all in your head. You’re perfectly safe now. Stop making a scene alright? What's this nonsense about a divorce? I have more important things to deal with. Calm yourself down."
I stared at his back as he left, tears already streaming down my face.
Something important?
Did he really think I couldn't hear his assistant, Sophia, murmuring in the background?
Did he think I didn't know he took her to the last family gathering?
I had loved Vincent for three years. Everyone knew he was the center of my world.
They all thought an orphan like me could never leave him.
But now, all the love I had was eclipsed by a profound, soul-crushing exhaustion.
I was done.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in three long years.
"Uncle, book me a flight to Seattle. I'm ready to leave Vincent."
...
"That's great, Bella. You're finally coming back. I'm so happy for you. You know that old swing in the garden? It’s been waiting for you."
I could hear the undisguised joy in my uncle's voice.
Before I could reply, a cold voice cut in from behind me.
"Who are you talking to?"
It was Vincent.
I turned around. His suit was rumpled, his tie hanging loose around his neck. The sickly-sweet scent of jasmine perfume clinging to him almost made me gag.
"A friend."
I hung up the phone, trying to control my racing heart.
"What friend?"
He stepped closer, raising an eyebrow with a lazy, casual smile.
"Who would an orphan like you have to talk to? You have no one. Only me."
My breathing grew shallow.
I suddenly remembered three years ago. I was a curator and went out for a work dinner, but my phone died.
That night, Vincent had unleashed his men, ready to tear the city apart to find me.
He pinned me down, his kisses covering my skin like bruises, like he was trying to swallow me whole.
"There's only room for me in your life, Bella."
Back then, I thought he was just so in love with me, that his possessiveness was proof. I even let him think I was just some orphan with nowhere else to go. All I wanted was to be by his side forever.
Until Sophia became his assistant.
Until he planted Sophia in my art gallery, like a snake in the garden.
"No one. Just a client I met at the gallery."
I didn't look at him again, just got up and walked toward the bedroom.
The old Vincent would have stormed after me, grabbed me, demanded to know everything.
But now, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the caller ID, and his expression shifted as he answered.
"Vincent," Sophia's syrupy voice cooed through the phone. "The diamond necklace you gave me is absolutely beautiful!"
"All my girlfriends said I have such good taste!"
Vincent instinctively lowered the volume, but I heard every word.
A diamond necklace?
I remember last month he said money was tight, that we had to cut back on spending. The painting I wanted? Too expensive, he said.
But he had no problem splurging on a diamond necklace for his assistant.
"Okay, I get it," Vincent said quietly, glancing at me. Then he quickly hung up.
Back in the bedroom, I blinked back the burn in my eyes and started packing.
It was obvious.
He has someone else by his side now. He shouldn’t need me anymore.
There was no reason for me to stay.
"What are you doing?" He saw my open suitcase and rushed into the room.
"Packing."
"Packing for what? Where are you going?"
"I'm divorcing you. Of course I'm moving out."
Vincent froze for a second, then his tone softened. He moved closer, trying to sweet-talk me. I forced myself not to look at the bright red lipstick stain on his collar.
"Bella, stop messing around. We've been married three years. You know my temper, Bella. Don't test me."
"I've made myself perfectly clear." I folded a shirt, but my voice was already choked with tears. "I want a divorce!"
"Because of yesterday?" His voice was laced with impatience. "I told you, that fear of heights is all in your head. Two hours on a roof isn't going to kill you."
My hands stopped.
Two hours.
He knew I was on that roof for two hours.
And he never once came to look for me.
"Besides, do you have any idea how much important business I had to deal with yesterday?" Vincent went on. "The family business needs me. I can't just drop everything for one of your little episodes."
Important business?
Picking out diamond necklaces with Sophia, having coffee with her.
Right. Very important.
I stopped what I was doing and tried to keep my voice steady.
"Vincent, starting tomorrow, I'll have the maid iron your suits."
I put down the clothes and looked at him.
"What?" He narrowed his eyes. "I'm trying to be nice here, and you're still giving me a hard time? What exactly do you want me to do?"
"I'm not giving you a hard time. We're getting a divorce. It's not my job to iron your suits anymore."
"Bella!" He walked over, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look up at him.
"You're my wife! It's your duty!"
"Ex-wife," I corrected him.
"We're not divorced yet!" He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. "Until then, you are still my wife!"
The heat from his palm was so familiar, but now it just felt like a burn.
I wrenched my hand from his grasp, fighting to calm my racing heart.
Then, I pointed to the lipstick stain on his collar and met his eyes.
“Care to explain where this came from?”
He glanced down, following my finger.
Not a flicker of panic crossed his face.
Instead, he scoffed.
He loosened his tie with one hand and swiped the smudge of red away with his fingertip, as casually as if he were brushing off a speck of dust.
“Some woman who couldn’t keep her hands to herself, I imagine.” He looked up at me, his eyes like ice. “Stop it, Bella. This game is boring.”
“Game?” The word stabbed me like a knife.
Seeing the color drain from my face, he lost what little patience he had.
“The game is over.” His voice dropped, a warning that left no room for argument. “Don’t forget your place. Without the Salvatore family, you are nothing!”
It felt like he was trying to crush the last of my dignity.
He saw the tears welling in my eyes, let me go, and pulled a black card from his suit pocket.
He tossed it onto the table in front of me.
“There. I’ll have my assistant take you shopping in Paris in a few days. Now stop causing me trouble.”
With that, he turned and walked away without another glance.
I expected him to slam the door.
He didn’t.
He just stepped out and pulled it shut.
Click.
The lock turned from the outside.
His cold voice came through the wooden panel, delivering his final ultimatum: “Bella, threatening me with divorce was the stupidest mistake of your life. I’m not coming home tonight. You will stay here and reflect on how a Mrs. Salvatore is supposed to behave.”
I stared at the closed door, then sank to the floor, unable to stop shaking.
Vincent had proposed on a massive hot air balloon, a grand, ridiculous gesture.
That was the day he found out about my fear of heights. He ordered his men to get the balloon down with a helicopter, holding me tight as I struggled to breathe.
"It's okay, Bella. I'll never let you go anywhere that makes you uncomfortable again."
But now, he was calling me dramatic. Saying I embarrassed the family.
I cried myself to sleep, my eyes swollen.
Late that night, my phone buzzed with a text.
From Vincent: `Midnight Club. Pick me up. Now.`
I stared at the message and didn't reply.
The phone buzzed again: `Don't make me say it again, Bella. You're still my wife. That comes with duties.`
After a moment, I put my phone down and threw on a jacket.
One last time.
I drove to the Midnight Club, a high-end private place Vincent always went to. Before I even got out of the car, I heard familiar laughter.
Vincent's laugh, and Sophia's giggles.
In the car, my mind flashed back to the family gathering last month. Vincent's brother, Marco, had said to him, "Vincent, you've got it made."
"With so many women throwing themselves at you, aren’t you afraid your wife will get angry?”
Vincent had just smirked, full of himself.
“A man needs his diversions.”
“Bella? She’d never get angry with me. She throws herself at me more than any of them. She’s so in love with me, she wouldn’t dare to defy me. Besides,” he’d added with a smug grin, “a little jealousy, a little tantrum… it adds a bit of spice, doesn’t it?”
I was standing just outside the door. I heard every single word.
Thinking about it now, my heart felt completely numb.
I pushed open the club door and saw Vincent and Sophia in a corner booth, her head nestled on his shoulder.
When he saw me, Vincent frowned.
"Are you following me?"
"Following you?" I walked toward them, my face calm. "You told me to come pick you up."
He seemed to be second-guessing whether he’d actually sent me the text.
After all, casually ordering me to do something and then forgetting about it moments later was a common occurrence for him.
Sophia was nestled in the booth beside Vincent, poured into a sexy red dress that hugged every perfect curve of her body.
"Oh, Vincent, I was only teasing. I sent the text."
"I wanted to see if Mrs. Salvatore really does everything you say." She batted her eyelashes, looking all innocent.
Vincent's face softened immediately. "Sophia, you're such a handful."
"But Bella, your timing is perfect. Drive us home."
I watched the scene, a storm churning inside me. But on the outside, I was perfectly still.
"Fine."
Vincent looked surprised, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. The old me would have run out crying or stormed over and made a scene.
"Bella, you..." he started, trying to explain.
But I just reached out, took his coat, and let Sophia help him up as they followed me out.
"Let's go." I turned and walked toward the door.
In the car, Sophia sat in the back, chattering away to Vincent, her voice shrill and grating. Vincent would reply now and then, but his eyes kept flicking to me in the rearview mirror.
"You're quiet tonight, Bella," he finally said.
"What's there to talk about?"
We stopped at a red light. Vincent turned to look at me. "About what happened back there..."
"There's nothing to explain." I stared straight ahead. "We're getting a divorce. I won’t be interfering in your life anymore."
His face changed. He clearly wasn't used to this reaction from me.
The car fell into a dead silence.
The light turned green. A split second later, a black sedan shot out from a side street, aiming right for us.
Vincent lunged, pulling me into his arms.
"Watch out!"
There was a screech of tires as the black car scraped past us.
He held me tight against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering. The gesture was so familiar. He used to protect me just like this.
"Are you okay?" He let go, anxiously checking me for injuries.
I looked at his concerned face, and for a second, I felt dizzy.
Was this the same man who left me to die on a rooftop?
After the intersection, Vincent's hand instinctively found mine and held it.
His warm palm, the familiar touch. I almost forgot we were getting divorced.
But the second the car stopped, I pulled my hand away.
His affection was a poison, and I'd spent three years letting it seep into my veins. It would kill me if I let it.
I couldn't let myself fall for it again.
"Thanks."
Vincent's hand hung in the air, his expression complicated.
The next morning, as I was getting ready to go to the gallery, Vincent was waiting downstairs. "I'll drive you."
"No, thanks."
"Bella, we need to talk." His voice was pleading. "About yesterday..."
"I told you, there's nothing to talk about."
"Get in the car. I'm taking you to the gallery." He opened the passenger door.
I was about to refuse, but then I saw the inside and froze.
Leopard-print seat covers. A crystal charm hanging from the rearview mirror.
But the most glaring thing was a silk scarf draped over the passenger seat, carelessly left behind. The air still held the faint, cloying scent of her jasmine perfume.
Vincent was a neat freak. He never allowed a single thing out of place in his car. But now, his passenger seat looked like it belonged to another woman.
"What is..." I pointed at the decorations.
Vincent frowned for a moment, then dismissed it with a shrug.
"Sophia left that stuff the last time she was in the car. I haven't had a chance to clear it out."
Forgot to clear it out?
Or didn't want to?
I got in the car and noticed a small, high-end makeup bag by my feet. A limited-edition Chanel.
"Forgot to put this away, too?"
Vincent's face turned red. "I'll have someone clean it out right away."
He used to freak out if I left a single strand of hair in his car. Now he was letting another woman's personal things sit here for who knows how long.
The difference in our reactions was stark.
When we got to the gallery, I saw my colleagues huddled around the front desk, buzzing with excitement.
"This champagne is so expensive! Dom Pérignon!"
"And these roses, they must have cost a fortune!"
Anna came over and whispered, "Bella, are these from your husband?"
I looked at the expensive champagne and bouquets.
"They're not for me."
"Huh? Then who are they for?"
The others were murmuring among themselves.
“You guys haven’t heard? The rumor is, Don Vincent’s former assistant, Sophia, was upset about something, so he had all this sent over to cheer her up.”
“Still calling her an assistant? I give it a month before she’s the official girlfriend!”
“God, I’m so envious… To have a man like that go to such lengths to appease you. I guess we’re all benefiting from it, in a way.”
I stood there, watching the romantic gestures that should have belonged to a wife being used to please another woman.
And the rest of us, the "irrelevant" ones, were just there to enjoy the benefits.
"Bella, aren't you allergic to lilies? Let's get these flowers into Sophia's office." Anna pointed at the bouquets, pulling me away.
Even my co-workers remembered something like that. Had Vincent really forgotten?
Sophia loved strong scents. Jasmine perfume, lily bouquets.
I remembered when we first got married, Vincent memorized everything I liked. I loved the delicate scent of lily of the valley, and he had them specially ordered and planted all around our villa. I was allergic to lilies, so he'd never let one in the house.
Now, he'd even forgotten my allergies.
"Bella, are you okay?" Anna asked, her voice full of concern.
"I'm fine." I looked away. "Let's get back to work."
I went to my office and started preparing for next month's big exhibition. It was a project I'd been planning for six months, featuring ten up-and-coming artists. The client was one of New York's biggest art investment funds. The deal was worth millions. This exhibition was supposed to be a major milestone in my career.
At eleven o'clock that night, I was the only one left in the gallery, still finalizing the details.
The door opened and Vincent walked in.
"Why are you still working so late?"
"Prepping for the exhibition." I didn't look up.
"What exhibition is so important?" He walked over to my desk.
"The emerging artists showcase next month."
Vincent glanced at the papers on my desk. "Bella, I need to talk to you about something."
"What is it?"
"This exhibition. Give it to Sophia."
My hands froze over the keyboard. I looked up at him.
"What?"
"Sophia has a genuine eye for this stuff. She needs a serious platform to build her reputation," Vincent said, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "She's trying to build a new life, you know? To put her past behind her. She wants to be seen as more than just some girl from the clubs."
"I've been working on this for six months."
"I know how hard you've worked, but this is more important for Sophia right now," he said, sitting down. "She's under a lot of pressure. People are always gossiping about her. This exhibition will help her establish a name for herself in the art world."
I looked at his earnest expression. He was fighting for another woman's future. For her reputation, her career.
But when I first wanted to get into this business, what did he say?
"Why don't you just stay home with me? Be my little princess. I'll spoil you. What does a woman need to work for?"
Apparently, for someone else, he could support all of her ambitions.
"Okay," I nodded.
Vincent stared. "Okay?"
"I agree. She can have the exhibition."
"You're... not going to fight me on this?" he asked, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
"Why would I be mad? We're getting a divorce. My work has nothing to do with you."
Vincent's expression was complicated. He pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket.
"This is for you. As compensation."
Inside was a diamond necklace, simple and elegant.
"This will look good on you," he said, his voice gentle. "And Bella, can you take back what you said about the divorce?"
"What?"
"I've been thinking. I know you don’t really want a divorce. You’re just saying that because you’re angry. We just have a communication problem." He reached for my hand. "I'll take you to Vegas this weekend. We can start over."
I looked at the necklace, but all I could see was the one he gave Sophia.
"Vincent, do you think a necklace can fix our problems?"
"No, this is just a start," he said, his eyes pleading. "Bella, I'll change."
"I don't need you to change." I closed the box. "I just need you to let me go."
"Bella..."
"I'll take the necklace, as payment for the last six months of my work." I stood up. "But the divorce is final."
Vincent's face darkened. "Why are you being so stubborn? I will never agree to it. You need to calm down and not do something you’ll regret."
"I'm not being stubborn. I'm finally seeing things clearly."
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"Bella, we're husband and wife!" he yelled after me.
"Ex-husband and ex-wife," I said without looking back, and walked out of the gallery.
On the way home, I was scrolling through Instagram. Sophia's latest post popped up. In the photo, she was wearing a complete set of diamond jewelry. A necklace, earrings, and a bracelet, all from the same designer, the same collection. Exquisite and ridiculously expensive.
The caption read: "Building my forever with the only man who matters. Thank you, V."
I zoomed in on the picture, studying the jewelry. Then I took out the necklace Vincent had just given me and compared them.
The same brand. The same design.
A sharp pain shot through my heart.
The necklace he'd given me wasn't a gift. It was an afterthought. A scrap from the feast he'd laid out for her.
Just like me. I was just the extra piece in this family, the one that didn't belong anymore.
