Chapter 2
Brielle’s POV
“Mr. Halborough, could I schedule an appointment for, say, two o’clock this afternoon?” My voice comes out steady, polite-no hint of the tears that wracked me for half an hour as I tried to process what I’d just witnessed. I’ve forced the grief down deep, hidden the ache. Now there’s only business left: end this farce of a marriage, and maybe, if I’m lucky, find a way to make Cyrene pay for her part.
“Two o’clock? I can make that work. Could you give me a heads-up about the purpose of the appointment?”
“I’m filing for divorce,” I reply, flat and cold, the words suddenly real and tangible as they leave my lips. I feel the sting of fresh tears, but I clamp down hard. Not today. Not in public. I’m a doctor-trained to keep my composure with the dying and the grieving. I can do it now, too. Treat the end of my marriage as just another death, and wall away the part of me that wants to scream.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll see you at two.” One task complete. What’s next?
I strip off my sweats and pull on a suit, wanting to look composed, untouchable. As I zip up the skirt, the song from our wedding plays through the house. My throat tightens and, despite my best intentions, tears streak down my cheeks again. Not for him-he doesn’t deserve that. It’s just for all I believed I had, for the story I told myself. But really, I’ve lost nothing but my own wounded pride.
I reapply my makeup; as I’m brushing on mascara, a different song comes on-one that feels more honest, more like the woman I am now: “I See Red,” by Everybody Loves an Outlaw. The raw, vengeful lyrics pulse through me, and I start singing along-loud, off-key. Balen always claimed I couldn’t carry a tune, but right now, I don’t care. I belt out the words, mangling the verses and laughing at my own wildness. It helps, this rage. It steadies me. I want to hurt them as much as they hurt me.
The drive to the bank is strangely quiet, the city thinned out in the late morning. But inside, the line snakes back and forth, a slow, shuffling crawl. I wait, arms folded, until a concierge spots me and ushers me away from the crowd, into a glass-walled office.
“What can we do for you today, Ms. Pendry?” the banker asks, all smooth politeness. He’s been warned; he knows I’m here to do something significant.
“I’d like to close my account. Please issue a bank cheque for the balance,” I say, keeping my voice formal and even. He blinks, startled, as he realizes I’m closing out over a million dollars. For this little branch, I might as well be a visiting monarch. I hold his gaze and smile.
This is the first real step-a clean break, a severing of the last financial thread between me and the man who betrayed me. No more credit cards, no more automatic payments to his accounts. The cow is dry. Let Balen and Cyrene scramble now. I hope whatever he siphoned off was worth it.
I stride out onto the sunlit street, my mind buzzing with next steps. I’m so focused I nearly miss Calitha, ducking into a café across the intersection. My feet carry me toward her as if I’m being pulled by a riptide.
“Hey, Calitha!” I call out, spotting her in a corner booth. She looks up, startled-her eyes red, mascara smudged. She’s been crying.
“Oh, hi Brielle. How are you?” Her voice is small, raw. I slide in beside her and wrap her in a quick,
11.06
1.06%
fierce hug, needing the comfort as much as she does. The waitress appears, hovering, so I shift back into my seat and force a bright smile.
“I’ll have a peppermint tea. Calitha, coffee and cake? My treat.”
“Yes, please,” she says, managing a grateful nod. The waitress scribbles the order and retreats, muttering under her breath. I shake my head, banishing the negativity.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask gently. “Why the tears?”
“My boss yelled at me this morning. It… it just got to me, that’s all. No big deal.” She tries to laugh it off, but her hands twist in her lap.
“You’re still in real estate, right?”
“Yeah. But the market’s slow right now. I’m hustling at the bottom end, while everyone else gets the big-ticket listings. I have to sell four or five properties just to meet my quota, while the favorites hit theirs in a single deal. It’s exhausting. And every time a high-priced home comes in, the boss hands it to someone else. I’m thinking about leaving, honestly. I’m not even sure he likes me.”
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “Well, today’s your lucky day. I need your help.”
She blinks at me, surprise flickering in her eyes. “What can I do for you? I feel like I’m always the one needing a hand.”
The drinks arrive. I wait for the waitress to leave, then glance around the café to make sure we’re alone. I lower my voice.
“My husband cheated. With Cyrene.”
Her gasp is sharp and immediate. “He didn’t. That scumbag… with her, of all people?”
I nod, jaw clenched. “So here’s what I need: I want you to list my house. I don’t even see it as home anymore. Get your auctioneer guy to clear out the junk I don’t want. You can take everything in the fridge and freezer-should last you a while. I’ll need a moving van, some muscle to move what I’m keeping to my next place, and Balen’s stuff to Cyrene’s garage.”
She stares at me. “What new place? You’ve already moved?”
“Not yet, but I’m heading to work right now. There’s an offer on the table at a private hospital-if it stands, I’ll take it. If I get the job, I’ll come back to sign whatever you need to list the house. I want you to have the listing, Calitha. If any of your colleagues try to poach it, I’ll refuse. This one’s yours. And I need a new place-gated, three bedrooms minimum, house or penthouse, near the hospital.”
Calitha’s eyes fill again, but this time it’s not from sadness. “Furnished or unfurnished?” She’s all business now, tablet out, fingers flying.
“I’m starting from scratch. I don’t mind, as long as I’m not hauling old beds and couches. If it’s a penthouse, at least semi-furnished would be great.”
“Let me send you this,” I say, thumbing through my phone to find the land deed from my home purchase. I forward it to her.
“Thank you. Give me a couple hours-I’ll pull some listings and have the paperwork ready.”
“My lawyer appointment’s at two. I’ll come by after?”
“Perfect.” Calitha’s smile is bright, shaky-like she’s just been handed a lifeline.
“Can you have the auctioneer come over after we’re done? You handle the details. The sooner it’s over, the better. I can stay in a motel if I have to.”
“I’ll text you the details later,” she promises.
I drain my tea, give Calitha another hug, and walk out into the bright day, hope flickering in my chest
for the first time. There’s work ahead, and I’m not sure what the future holds, but I have a plan-and, for now, that is enough.
