Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
When I unlocked the front door of our estate at two in the morning, the house was dark and silent.
I walked into the grand foyer, flipped on the crystal chandeliers, and found Ethan sitting on the bottom step of the marble staircase. He looked completely defeated. His tuxedo jacket was off, his tie undone, an empty bottle of cheap whiskey sitting between his feet.
He looked up as I stepped into the foyer. There was no anger left in his eyes—only a pathetic, desperate hollow.
"You destroyed me, Mabel," Ethan whispered, his voice hoarse from crying and drinking. "In four hours... you destroyed everything I spent three years building."
"You destroyed yourself, Ethan," I replied coldly, standing a few feet away, my arms crossed over my chest. "You spent three years building a house of cards on a foundation of lies, theft, and disrespect. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
Ethan buried his face in his hands, letting out a ragged sigh. "I was stupid... okay? I got swept up in Chicago. Chloe made me feel... young. She made me feel powerful."
"She made you feel like a fool," I corrected sharply. "She used you as her personal ATM machine, and the second the cash stopped flowing tonight, she walked away from you on Fifth Avenue."
Ethan flinched. He knew I was right.
"Mabel... please," Ethan begged, sliding off the step onto his knees, looking up at me with bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. "We can fix this. I'll fire Chloe. I'll return all the stolen money. I'll sign whatever agreement you want. Just tell Arthur to drop the criminal charges. Don't let them send me to prison."
I looked down at the man I had once loved—the man I had waited three years for, the man I had prayed for every night while he was away. Seeing him on his knees didn't give me a rush of triumph. It only gave me a deep, profound sense of disgust.
"Do you remember what you told me on the balcony two nights ago, Ethan?" I asked softly.
Ethan swallowed hard, trembling. "Mabel..."
"You told me: 'If you pretend you don't know anything, you can keep being my wife.'" I repeated his own words back to him, every syllable weighed in ice. "You thought my dignity had a price tag. You thought I would quietly accept being humiliated in my own home just to keep your last name."
"I was wrong!" Ethan sobbed, reaching out to grab the hem of my coat. "I was so wrong, Mabel! Please... forgive me!"
I stepped back, letting his hands fall empty onto the cold marble floor.
"I don't hate you, Ethan," I said calmly. "Hate requires energy, and you aren't worth my energy anymore. Your things are packed in two suitcases in the garage. Take them and leave my house."
"Where am I supposed to go?!" Ethan cried out frantically. "I don't have a dollar! My cards are frozen!"
"You can sleep in your car," I replied smoothly, turning toward the stairs. "Or maybe you can call Chloe. I'm sure she’d love to host you."
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"Mabel!" Ethan screamed as I began walking up the stairs. "Mabel, please!"
I didn't turn back. I walked into the master bedroom, locked the heavy oak door, and for the first time in three years, I slept deeply, peacefully, and completely free.
