Instead, they cauterized everything.
He continued because cruel people often become reckless once they believe they have finally won.
“I care about you.”
I almost smiled.
“But what Brielle and I have is different.”
“Then why did you marry me?”
His eyes flickered.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Money.
Access.
Status.
Caldwell & Sons.
He did not need to say any of it.
“I thought we could build something,” he said.
“We did.”
He frowned.
I looked around the suite.
“We built tonight.”
He stepped toward me.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
I met his eyes.
“No, Preston.”
My voice surprised even me.
“Drama is pretending this marriage survives tomorrow.”
His expression changed.
“You’ll regret this attitude in the morning.”
I stared at the man wearing a twenty-thousand-dollar tuxedo paid for through a supplementary card linked to my private trust.
The man whose Aston Martin sat downstairs because I had given it to him for his thirty-fourth birthday.
The man whose father’s company had remained alive because I had quietly made sure Whitmore contracts kept flowing toward Caldwell & Sons.
The man who believed the crown on his head was real because I had been too patient to remove it.
“No, Preston.”
I felt something almost like peace.
“Tomorrow is when you start regretting yours.”
He laughed.
But there was a crack in it.
Then he took his jacket, grabbed his keys, and walked out.
The door slammed so violently that roses shook in their vases.
I stood motionless for almost a minute.
Then I crossed the room and opened the curtains.
Through the glass, I watched him descend the stone steps.
He climbed into the black Aston Martin.
My wedding gift.
Its headlights swept across the circular driveway.
For one second, the car paused at the gates.
Some foolish part of me still wondered whether he would turn around.
He did not.
The gates opened.
The Aston disappeared into the darkness.
And at 10:19 p.m., I stopped being Mrs. Preston Caldwell in every way that mattered.
I unpinned my veil.
One pin.
Then another.
Then another.
The woman in the mirror gradually became less bridal.
My diamond earrings came off.
My satin gloves came off.
The gown followed.
Underneath it, I wore a black silk camisole and tailored black trousers.
The jacket was waiting in the wardrobe.
I had put it there that afternoon.
Not because I had known exactly what Preston would do.
Because six weeks earlier, I had finally admitted to Malcolm that I no l
