Chapter 2: Red Hot Fury
1829 Words
Scarlett.
The boutique assistant held up three dresses, but I pointed at the one that looked like liquid fire.
"That one."
"Excellent choice, ma'am. This is a—"
"I don't care what it is." I pulled out my credit card. "I need it now. With shoes. And someone who can do my hair and makeup in the next two hours."
Her eyes widened. "We have a rush service, but—"
"Money isn't an issue." I met her gaze in the mirror. "Making my husband remember I exist? That's the goal."
She smiled slowly. "I'll get our best team."
---
The Astoria Grand Hotel blazed against the night sky like a palace made of broken promises. Valets in burgundy uniforms rushed between cars that cost more than my parents' house. Women dripped diamonds. Men wore tuxedos worth six figures.
I stepped out of my taxi in my red dress, and the world seemed to pause.
Heads turned. Conversations stopped. A camera flashed.
The doorman's eyes went wide as I approached. "Good evening, miss. May I see your—"
"I'm Scarlett Pierre." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Adrian Pierre's wife."
His face drained of color. "Mrs. Pierre! Of course, my apologies, please—"
I walked past him into the glittering ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers. White silk draped like wedding veils. Roses that would die tomorrow but cost a fortune today. And everywhere, people who belonged in this world of excess.
People like Adrian.
I found him at the center of the room, surrounded by men in expensive suits. He was laughing, his head thrown back slightly, his steel-gray eyes warm in a way they'd never been with me.
And on his arm, like she'd been sewn there, was Veronica Sterling.
She wore gold that caught every light. Her blonde hair was perfect. Her hand rested on his chest, right over his heart, like she owned it.
Maybe she did.
I started walking, my heels clicking against marble. The crowd parted. Whispers followed me like ghosts.
Is that his wife?
I didn't know he was married.
Poor thing...
Adrian saw me when I was fifteen feet away. His smile died instantly. His jaw tightened. His whole body went rigid.
"Scarlett." My name sounded like a disease. "What are you doing here?"
"Hello, Adrian." I stopped in front of him, my hands shaking so badly I clasped them behind my back. "We need to talk."
"No, we don't." He didn't even look at me fully—his eyes slid over me like I was some furniture. "Go home."
"I'm not going anywhere until—"
"Adrian, darling," Veronica interrupted, her voice dripping honey. "Who is this?"
She knew exactly who I was. We'd met at the wedding. But she smiled at me like I was a stranger. Like I was nobody.
"His wife," I said, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "We met at—"
"Oh, right!" Veronica's laugh was like breaking glass. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot. You just blend into the background so well."
The men around us chuckled.
My face burned.
"Scarlett, leave." Adrian's voice was flat. Empty. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"I need five minutes. Just five minutes to—"
"I said no." He turned his back on me, dismissing me like I was a server asking about drink refills. "Gentlemen, as I was saying about the merger—"
"Adrian, please." My voice cracked. I hated how desperate I sounded. "I just want to talk to you about—"
"About what?" He spun back around, and the look in his eyes made me step back. Pure contempt. "About how you decided to show up here uninvited, dressed like you're trying to get attention? About how you're making a scene in front of my business associates? About how you can't seem to understand that I have more important things to do than deal with your need for drama?"
Each word hit me like a slap.
"I'm not trying to make a scene," I whispered. "I just thought maybe we could—"
"Could what, Scarlett?" He stepped closer, looming over me. "Talk about our feelings? Have some heart-to-heart? Do you have any idea how pathetic this is? Chasing after me like some lovesick teenager?"
"I'm your wife."
"In name only." His voice dropped lower, colder. "That's all it's ever been. All it was ever going to be."
The ballroom was silent now. Everyone watching. Everyone listening to Adrian Pierre destroy his wife in public.
"Then why did you marry me?" The words came out broken.
"Because you were convenient." He straightened his cuffs, not meeting my eyes. "Pretty enough for photos. Quiet enough not to be a problem. Or so I thought."
Veronica's hand slid up his arm. "Adrian, darling, you're being too harsh. She clearly just misunderstood the arrangement."
"What arrangement?" I looked between them, something cold sliding down my spine.
Adrian sighed like I was a child asking stupid questions. "Did you really think this was a love match, Scarlett? I needed a wife for appearances. You needed financial security. It was a transaction. Nothing more."
"You said you loved me." My voice was barely a whisper. "When you proposed, you said—"
"I said what you needed to hear." He adjusted his watch—the one that cost forty thousand dollars. "You were young, naive, and honestly, I thought you'd be less... needy. My mistake."
The room spun. "You're lying."
"Am I?" He finally looked at me fully, and his eyes were dead. "Tell me, Scarlett, when was the last time I said I loved you? When was the last time I came to your bed? When was the last time I even asked about your day?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe.
"Exactly." He turned back to his associates. "Now if you'll excuse us, my wife was just leaving."
"No." I pulled the envelope from my bag with shaking hands. "Not until you sign these."
Adrian glanced at the envelope, then back at me. "What is that?"
"Divorce papers." I thrust them at him. "You want me gone? Fine. But you're going to make it official."
For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance.
He took the envelope and pulled out the papers. Scanned the first page. The second.
Then he laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Oh, this is perfect." He looked around at the watching crowd. "My wife, ladies and gentlemen, thinks she can divorce me."
"I can and I am," I said, but my voice shook.
"Scarlett." He folded the papers and tucked them back in the envelope. "Do you have any idea what you're asking for? These papers give you nothing. No alimony. No settlement. Nothing."
"I don't want your money."
"Yes, you do." He smiled, cold and cruel. "You just don't realize it yet. Where will you live? That apartment you think is yours? It's in my name. Your car? My name. Your credit cards? My accounts. Even that little coffee shop you like so much—the one where you sit for hours pretending to work? I own the building."
My heart stopped. "What?"
"I own everything, Scarlett. Including you." He tossed the envelope back at me. It hit my chest and fell to the floor, papers scattering. "So no, I'm not signing your pathetic divorce papers. Not now. Not ever. You want out? You'll have to beg a lot harder than this."
I stared at the papers on the ground, tears blurring my vision.
"Now pick those up," Adrian said quietly, "and go home. Before I have security escort you out."
"Adrian—"
"Pick. Them. Up."
I dropped to my knees in my expensive red dress, gathering papers with shaking hands. My tears fell on the documents, smudging the ink. Around me, I could hear whispers, feel the weight of a hundred pitying stares.
"Actually," Adrian's voice came from above me, "on second thought, I'll sign them."
I looked up, hope flaring painfully in my chest.
He pulled a pen from his jacket and crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. "You want this so badly? Fine. I'll sign. But know this, Scarlett—you'll come crawling back. Within a month, maybe two, when you realize you can't afford your lifestyle. When you're eating ramen in some studio apartment because your marketing degree from a mediocre state school won't get you anywhere near the life you've become accustomed to. You'll come back begging, and I'll make you grovel for every penny."
He signed each page with harsh, angry strokes.
"And when you do come back," he continued, shoving the papers at me, "I won't take you. I'll watch you fall apart from a distance and feel absolutely nothing. Because that's what you are to me, Scarlett. Nothing."
He stood and offered his hand to Veronica. "Shall we dance, darling?"
She smiled up at him. "I thought you'd never ask."
I knelt there on the marble floor, signed divorce papers clutched to my chest, watching my husband walk away. Watching him pull another woman into his arms. Watching him smile down at her like she was everything I'd never been.
The crowd slowly turned away, conversations resuming. The show was over.
I stayed on the floor, papers scattered around me, mascara running down my face, until a server gently touched my shoulder.
"Ma'am? Can I help you up?"
"No," I whispered. "I can do it myself."
But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't hold me. The room was spinning, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the sound of Adrian's voice saying nothing, nothing, nothing.
Finally, I made it to my feet. Gathered every paper. Walked toward the exit on numb legs.
The last thing I saw before I left was Adrian dipping Veronica on the dance floor, her laugh carrying across the ballroom like music.
He never once looked my way.
Outside, the February cold hit me like a wall. I made it down three steps before I collapsed, sinking onto the stone stairs in my red dress that was supposed to make him see me.
But he had seen me.
And he'd seen nothing worth keeping.
I pulled my knees to my chest, ruining the expensive dress, and cried like I'd never cried before. Deep, gasping sobs that hurt my chest. The kind of crying that comes from realizing you've wasted four years loving someone who never loved you back. Who never even liked you.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Mrs. Pierre, your belongings have been packed and sent to your parents' address. The locks have been changed. Mr. Pierre suggests you find alternative accommodation. Have a pleasant evening.
I had nowhere to go. No money of my own. No home. No husband.
Nothing.
I sat there in the cold, alone, with signed divorce papers that meant I was finally free.
So why did freedom feel like drowning?
- Writer
