Chapter 4: The breaking point
1682 Words
Then Seraphina spoke, her tone light-hearted with laughter.
She pounced, sounding so pitiful. "Always hoping you will come home."
Still Lillian.
Slice through her, sharp and easy.
The stillness arrived next.
She straightened herself, waiting for Damon to fix it. To discount it. In general.
instead, though, he laughed.
The sound was low and negligent. detached
Lillian's pulse thumping in her ears loosened her hold on the folder.
Seraphina let out a very long sigh. "You could at least bring her out of suffering. Bad things linger waiting for something unreal.
Nevertheless, Damon said nothing.
Lillian's stomach's nausea twisted more and curved like a vice around her ribs.
His voice then came, low and frigid.
"She is just a names on a contract; she is nothing."
Her hand dropped the folder, dullly thumping on the glossy floor.
Lillian stayed still, staring at the door's c***k as if she could ignore the words that had just rocked her world.
a name. only a name.
Not a buddy. Not even a wife.
Not more than a practical legal arrangement.
She could hear a hollow ringing. Her vision distorted at the margins, as though the office walls were closing in.
She had always known, felt it in the icy way he looked at her, in the evenings he never came home, in the void between them.
Hearing that in his voice, **so definitive, so absolute, **was intolerable.
She could still hear Damon speaking. On a contract, she is simply a name.
The words sank farther with every iteration, running on an infinite cycle.
She had spent years attempting to meet his needs. Seeking evidence to show she may be more than just a responsibility. If only he allowed her, she could be someone he might select.
However, he never had.
And he never would as well.
The car came to a stop before their building, the usual doorman kindly nodding to open the door for her. Her legs rigid, she moved on instinct. She left.
Golden, warm lighting in the lobby created gentle pools of light over the polished flooring. She used to find solace in the aroma of fresh flowers, so it floated from the arrangement next to the front desk.
It felt oppressive tonight.
She passed the servants, past the mirrored walls reflecting a woman she hardly knew. Her shoulders back, her chin raised, her face inscrutable. But she gave her away with her eyes.
She stepped in when the lift doors slid open. As she climbed, each floor brought her closer to the world she had created, a life she now understood had been nothing more than an illusion, the quiet extended.
She stammered when the doors opened.
She turned almost around for a fleeting second.
But nowhere else could one sprint.
She went into the penthouse, the automatic lights flashing softly throughout the area. It was just as she had left it, perfect, sophisticated, unspoiled, unbroken.
a residence. Not residential.
She passed the living room, her heels clicking against the marble, her fingers lightly running over the rear of the sofa. She had been here waiting for Damon to come back for so many evenings. Many evenings, she would persuade herself that his absence did not indicate his lack of interest.
She understood better now.
She got to the bedroom and walked in. The large bed opened out before her; the silk sheets were absolutely smooth. Her side was unaltered, as always was.
Her fingers swept over the cloth, following the area he ought to have been in.
Never was, though, what he was.
She laughed bitterly in her throat, then choked it down.
Rather, she reached for her wedding band and twisted gently.
At first, it had felt like a promise, that is, quite substantial. It felt then like a chain.
She removed it with great exactness.
She spun, headed for Damon's nightstand.
She laid the ring down and the little lamp shed a golden glow over the mahogany table; the sound hardly heard.
She stayed for a moment, fixed on the basic band shining in the light.
Then she said, "Goodbye, Damon," in a voice none even the shadows could hear.
Beside her, the suitcase lay loaded. Folded paperwork, clothing, and everything important precisely.
It was hardly much.
The penthouse reverberated a faint knock.
Lillian did not move straight away. She drew a long breath, then pushed her palms against her lap and got up. Though she forced herself onwards, her legs felt wobbly. She was out of time for frailty.
Vanessa waited there, eyes keen and probing, when she unlocked the door. Wearing a dark green coat, her hair put up in a sleek ponytail and she radiated the easy confidence Lillian had always loved.
But tonight, worry danced in her eyes.
Vanessa's gaze dipped to the suitcase then turned back to see Lillian.
"You're really doing this," she replied gently.
Then Lillian nodded. "I ought to have done it some years ago."
Vanessa released a breath, entered, closed the door behind her. "Damon does not know, does he?"
Lillian's lips opened to a ghostly, humourless smile. He wouldn't give a damn.
Vanessa regarded her for a time before shaking her head. Not. Not yet, he won not understand. When he does, though, it will strike him like a goods train.
Lillian turned aside, headed towards the kitchen counter. There rested one neat, white last envelope. She grabbed it and felt the Ashford Enterprises embossed lettering slide her fingertips over.
Inside were the divorce paperwork. Signature signed. shuttered.
One decision she ought to have taken long ago.
She turned Vanessa over the envelope.
Deliver this for me, she said. "See to it he understands it."
Vanessa delayed taking it right away. She looked closely at Lillian, trying to find any hint of doubt.
Her voice gentle now, she whispered, "Are you sure?"
Lillian stared back, her chest constricting but not with uncertainty. exactly.
"I never have been more certain of anything in my life."
A gentle nod. Vanessa then grabbed the envelope very firmly.
She said, "Good." Then let's make sure he never has another chance to harm you.
"She's back?,"
"What is she doing here?," one wonders.
"She is at last leaving him?"
Lillian kept her stride constant and ignored them all, her face impassive.
The executive floor lift journey was agonisingly slow. An cold chill met her as the doors slid open.
She also knew this floor really well. The tall windows, the sleek modern furniture, the residual perfume aroma of Damon. This area was him in all respects.
She was not here to see him, though, not the guy she had given everything for, not the man who had once been her husband.
She arrived to meet businessman Damon Ashford.
Her heels clicked on the marble as she passed the throng of executives and staff, their eyes flashing towards her then fast turning away.
Every one knew.
Her heart thumping, she went to his office.
She refrained from knocking.
She opened the door and moved inside as though she still belonged.
Damon sat at his desk, his sharp features highlighted by golden light coming from the floor to-celly windows. His jacket lay thrown over the rear of his chair, the sleeves of his immaculate white shirt twisted. He exuded strength, undisturbed, superhuman ability.
He looked hardly above his phone.
He flicked a little annoyance across his face. "What now?" he said, massaging his temple as though she were only a hassle.
Lillian ate the pain of his apathy. She forbade his seeing her shatter. Not this time.
She moved forward without saying to lay the folder on his desk.
"This.."
Damon looked at the papers, his brow slightly raised.
At last he bent forward, gathering them with the same simplicity he would have any other contract. He turned through them sloppily, as though the termination of their marriage was merely another commercial transaction to be arranged.
She waited there waiting, for uncertainty, for regret, for anything. She watched him.
Damon skimmed the paper leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping against the armrest. His look stayed blank, the same chilly detachment he had developed over years. Lillian found none even if she had expected doubt, even a flutter of sorrow.
"So, you at last developed a spine," he said, amusement tingling his voice.
Her claws pressed into her palm. Lillian. She had watched years for him to show concern. Years looking forward his seeing her. Sweetheart. Now, though, she understood something as she stood here seeing him negotiate their divorce as if it were simply another deal.
She need his regret not at all.
Her only need was her freedom.
Damon blew out through his nostrils and reached for a pen. He wrote his signature across the bottom of the page without stopping, the ink pouring into the paper like a last goodbye.
He placed down the pen and hardly looked at her. "There there. You found what you were looking for.
A part of her expected this moment to feel different, like an ending, like closure.
But no sense of triumph emerged.
Not dramatic finality.
Just an empty man signing off on a marriage already dead for a protracted period.
She made herself stand tall and steady her voice. She said, "Thank you," quite plain.
Damon's lips quitched, something dark and knowing on his face. He slanted his head, peering at her as though she were a problem he had never completely solved.
She turned to leave then, and he said.
"You wouldn't survive without me a week."
Lillian stopped; his words slid into her skin like poison.
She turned her head slowly to meet his sight. His voice was calm, pure certainty, not angry or desperate.
It was a statement rather than a warning.
She had to have expected it. Damon never let go of something once his own.
She was no
more his though.
Lillian moved towards him just enough to hear her breath and catch the unflinching determination in her eyes.
She said, "I survived you," softly. "I'll live without you."
- Writer
