He Was Just A Chapter

Hazel’s POV Snow covered the windshield in relentless waves as the taxi climbed the final hill toward the mountainside cabin. I sat still in the back seat, my fingers wrapped around my phone. I searched my phone, looking at the last two messages Holden had sent me around 3am. “12PM sharp. Green smoothie and plain salad. No dressing. Stay consistent. It matters.” Just below it, another message. “Come to the cabin in Wyoming. Let’s work things out. Just me and you, no questions asked. I miss you.” I had never expected this from him. The first message was the Holden I had grown to know controlling and commanding but the other message was different; he seemed more loving. He said he missed me. My stomach twisted. I hadn’t eaten since the flight. Not that I could stomach anything anyway. I didn’t want the smoothie. I didn’t want the salad. But if I showed up with even an inch of bloating, he’d notice. I wore my navy blue velvet dress, the one he used to say made me look like a “literary goddess.” Lately, he said it made me look immature. “Too soft. Too sentimental.” But I wore it anyway. Maybe deep down, I hoped he’d look at me again the way he once did. Before the walls and the control. Before he began choosing what I wear, what I eat, and who I meet. I thought he was helping me grow, but lately he had shown me sides of him that made me think otherwise; he was more aggressive, disrespectful, and cold. I saw the difference between how he treated me in public and how he treated me behind closed doors. I had just held on to the hope that Holden would go back to the way things used to be. To the world, I was Hazel Weston, the trophy wife of the enigmatic billionaire who ran Weston House Publishing. I was the shy wife, uninterested in fame, and yes, there was some truth to that. But in secret? I was H.B. Beaumont, the name behind The Billionaire’s Secret Bride, Twins of Deception, The Shadows of the Forgotten Saga, Revenge in Velvet Heels, Falling Awake, and the fantasy series that broke every chart and landed several movie deals. His status as a millionaire to a billionaire was because of my words. Holden said anonymity was my shield. He said the media would eat me alive, and I believed him. So I stayed silent. I let him handle it all. The contracts, the press, the royalties. My entire work was written under his name. He said he loved me; he said it was for us and I gave him the rights to everything. The taxi stopped in front of a glass and stone cabin located beneath towering evergreen trees. The snow hit my skin in big drops, my body already feeling numb. I rushed towards the front door; it creaked as I pushed it open. Warmth and the scent of firewood wrapped around me. I stood there, letting the heat settle on my frozen cheeks. Maybe he meant it this time. Maybe this weekend was real and the receipt for the ring he had bought using our joint account was for me. It could be a reset. I could still remember the man he used to be. The man before the pain and the lies. I stepped into the living room, dropping my bags and coat and the sound hit me like a gunshot. A moan. I froze. I didn’t want to move but my feet did. They carried me past the kitchen, down the hall, toward the guest room where the fire crackled behind a half-open door. “Holden!” a high-pitched voice moaned. I pushed it open and that’s when I saw them. Holden and Zora f*****g each other. Holden’s hands were on her hips as he thrust forward. Mia’s fingers tangled in his hair, her eyes closed in pleasure. I felt trapped. I couldn’t breathe. I managed to steady myself on the doorframe and then I screamed. They jumped apart, tangled sheets flying. Holden turned. His eyes were wide as he saw me. “Hazel?” he said, as if I’d crashed their weekend. “What are you doing here?” “You told me to come,” my voice barely above a whisper. He blinked, his eyes lifted towards the ceiling as if the answer might be written in the air above him. His eyes slightly furrowed as he gazed at me. “That message was for Zora. I must’ve… I must’ve sent it to you by mistake. Zora smirked under the sheets, no shame at all in her voice. “Awkward.” I stared at her, then at him. I turned toward the table near the fireplace and that’s when I saw it. A ring box. A deep blue velvet box. Open. Inside was a sapphire ring, framed with diamonds. That was the ring. I’d seen the transaction in our joint account. A hundred thousand dollars is missing. I actually thought it was a surprise for me. He used our money to buy a ring for her, my own stepsister. Holden, who had already worn his boxers, followed my gaze, then sighed. “I just proposed,” he said. Like it was no big deal. “To Zora. We’ve been together for three years now.” Zora rose lazily, slipping one of Holden’s shirts over her naked body like it was hers. “We were going to tell you about us eventually. Just… not like this. It’s honestly for the best.” The room shifted. “You bought a ring with our money?” “My money,” Holden corrected quickly. “You gave me control, remember?” “I trusted you.” He laughed under his breath. “You were never built for the front lines, Hazel. You’re soft. I protected you. And this,” he gestured to Zora, “this is the future and the face of H.B. Beaumont.” Zora’s smile widened. “You’re my ghostwriter now.” “You’re insane; I didn’t agree to be her ghostwriter,” I hissed. “No,” Holden said coldly, standing inches from me. “I’m a businessman. You? You’re just a liability with a pen.” I shook my head numb. “You told me the world would destroy me but I still had my identity.” “It would’ve,” he snapped. “And you would’ve let it. I did what you couldn’t. I built an empire from your scribbles but the only detail I lied about is that Zora is going to be the face.” I took a step back. I’ll fight you. I’ll go public. Tell them everything.” Holden smirked. “And say what? That you let your husband manage your career? That you handed over all your rights without blinking? You think anyone would pick a weak fool over me?” “You manipulated me.” He shrugged. “You gave me the keys. Don’t be shocked the door’s locked now.” My throat closed up, but he kept going. “I only kept your initials to make you feel like you had something that was yours,” his voice was casual, like we were discussing the weather. “H.B. Beaumont. Hazel Brown Beaumont. I knew using your dead best friend’s surname would make you feel important, feel grounded but that was just branding, Hazel, smart branding.” I couldn’t breathe. “I endured you for years because you had talent,” he went on, “but now? It’s time to make room for someone who knows what to do with it. So Hazel I am leaving you penniless and ruined.” My voice was hoarse. “No…” He looked me straight in the eyes. “I want a divorce.”