Chapter 4
1265 Words
Ella’s POV:
The grief hit me like a punch to the chest. I dropped the phone, collapsing onto the bed as sobs ripped through me. My mother was gone—the one person who had always been there, who saw me even when no one else did. Now she was gone, and I was drowning in sorrow.
Trembling, I grabbed my phone and dialed Damien. No answer. I tried again. And again. Until my throat ached from whispering his name into empty voicemail after voicemail. Finally, I left a message.
“Damien… my mom passed away. I need you. Please, call me back.”
Nothing.
I sat frozen for a moment, trying to gather myself. I had to get to the hospital. There was no time to break down. On my way out, I ran into Mrs. Lee, the housekeeper.
“Please tell Mrs. Sterling what happened,” I murmured. “I need to go.”
Mrs. Lee nodded sympathetically, and I rushed out, hoping—desperately—that someone would come. Damien. Eleanor. Anyone. But no one did.
At the hospital, I made the necessary arrangements. I sat by my mother’s bedside, clutching her cold hand, saying a final goodbye to the warmth that had once been her. The burial came swiftly. I stood alone as the coffin was lowered, watching as every shovel of dirt buried not just her body but pieces of my heart. No Damien. No Eleanor. No family. Just me.
Just as the final prayers were being said, Robert—Damien’s uncle—appeared. His coat flapped in the cold wind as he approached me, concern etched across his face.
“Ella,” Robert said gently. “I’m so sorry I just found out tonight. I came as soon as I heard. Is Damien here?”
A lump formed in my throat, choking any words I might have spoken. I shook my head, blinking back more tears.
Robert’s face clouded with confusion, but he didn’t press for details. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he said softly.
He handled everything—the transportation, coordinating the few mourners, making sure things ran smoothly. He didn’t question why everything was so rushed, and for that, I was grateful.
The drive back was quiet, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. I stared out the window, the world outside passing in a blur. When we reached the house, Mrs. Lee stood waiting in the entryway, her eyes red from crying.
“I made some porridge,” she whispered. “You should eat.”
I gave her a small nod but said nothing.
Upstairs, I collapsed onto my bed, the tears coming harder this time. Damien didn’t come home that night. He didn’t even call.
The next morning, I woke up late. Eleanor hadn’t barged into my room demanding breakfast, which was unusual. But I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I searched the house for Damien, but it was empty, cold, and silent. In the kitchen, Mrs. Lee handed me a cup of coffee and a croissant. I forced myself to eat, though every bite felt heavy. I opened my laptop, hoping to drown myself in work, anything to ease the ache in my chest.
Then I saw it.
A post on social media: Damien and Ava.
They stood hand in hand at an exclusive event, smiling for the cameras, perfect in every way. While I mourned, they were out, celebrated and admired.
The final blow.
I slammed the laptop shut, my hands shaking with anger and heartbreak. If Damien wanted a life with Ava, he could have it. But I wouldn’t stay in the shadows any longer. I was done begging for love, done waiting for him to care.
I wanted out.
The next day, I called Richard. He arrived promptly, his expression somber as he sat across from me in the living room.
“I want a divorce,” I said, my voice steady.
Richard leaned back, studying me. “Are you sure, Ella? This won’t be easy.”
“I’ve thought about it.” My voice wavered only slightly. “Eleanor suggested we keep it quiet. A mutual decision. No drama.”
He frowned. “That sounds awfully convenient for them. Are you okay with that?”
“I just want my life back,” I whispered.
Richard gave me a thoughtful look. “Do you want to claim anything? Property or additional money?”
“No. I already have shares in the company, and Damien agreed that my monthly payments would continue even after the divorce.”
He raised a brow. “Those payments—are they part of your salary?”
“No, they’re separate.”
“Got it. I’ll explain it to the lawyer.”
He shifted gears gently. “Have you been to your mother’s house yet?”
“Not yet,” I replied. “But I plan to, after the divorce.”
“Did she live alone?”
“No, she had a housekeeper who stayed with her. She was the one who took her to the hospital.”
We talked a bit longer before Richard stood to leave. “Take care, Ella,” he said warmly. “I’ll handle everything.”
Before filing the papers, Richard insisted we meet with Mr. Philip, Damien’s father, to explain things. When we entered his office, Mr. Philip looked surprised to see us together.
“Ella, what’s going on? Richard said he had something important to discuss. Does this involve you?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered softly.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Richard added.
I told him about my mother’s death. He hadn’t known. He immediately called Eleanor, who fumbled through an excuse, claiming she had forgotten to inform him.
When he asked why she hadn’t attended the burial, she stammered, saying she had been busy. Mr. Philip shook his head in disappointment. After the call ended, I explained my desire for a quiet, drama-free divorce. He nodded thoughtfully.
“I’m sorry for Damien’s behavior,” Mr. Philip said quietly. “There will be no drama.”
Before I left, he handed me a check for 40 million dollars.
I hesitated, but Richard nudged me. “Take it, Ella.”
A few days later, I walked into Damien’s office with two documents—my resignation letter and the divorce papers.
Damien looked up, his expression unreadable. “Ella.”
I placed the papers on his desk, my heart pounding in my chest. “I need you to sign these.”
He glanced at the divorce papers, his eyes lingering. “So… this is it?”
“Yes.”
He picked up a pen, hesitating for a moment, as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, he didn’t. The sound of the pen scratching against paper was like the final click of a closing door—permanent and absolute.
When he finished, he leaned back in his chair. “Why are you resigning?”
I met his gaze, a strange calm settling over me. “Because it’s time for me to start living my life, too.”
For a moment, Damien just stared, as if caught off guard by my words. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t ask me to stay.
And that was the most painful part of all.
I walked out of his office with my head held high, ignoring the whispers from the staff. Let them gossip. I was done pretending.
For the first time in a long while, I felt free.
Little did I know, the real struggles were just beginning.
- Writer
