Chapter 2 - The Gate, the Suitcases, and the Morning Storm
At precisely 5:42 AM, the electronic gate buzzer at the front of our estate started ringing in frantic, rhythmic bursts. I walked over to the security monitor and pressed the feed. Aaron stood outside the wrought-iron gate wearing the exact same white dress shirt from the previous morning, his sleeves hopelessly wrinkled, his tie entirely missing, and his face twisted into an expression of sheer, unadulterated panic and rage.
The intercom hissed to life. “Claire! Open the gate right now!”
I ignored him, continuing to organize his packed suitcases near the front door.
“Claire, this is completely insane! Open the gate!” he buzzed again, slamming his hand against the intercom pillar.
Finally, stepping out into the brisk morning air, I walked to the driveway intercom panel and pressed the talk button. “You should go straight to the office, Aaron.”
Absolute silence echoed through the speaker. Then his voice shifted from angry barking to desperate, pathetic disbelief. “Claire, open the gate. We need to talk.”
“No.”
“You posted about our marriage on the company-wide Slack channel! Half the executive board has already texted my phone!”
“Our marriage?” I echoed, letting out a dry, mirthless laugh. For three years, I had protected his public image while he humiliated me in private. Now he wanted to hide behind the sanctity of marriage because his public reputation was taking a beating in front of five hundred employees.
“You need to take that post down immediately,” Aaron ordered, reverting back to his boardroom tone.
“No.”
“I am telling you to take it down right now, Claire, or there will be serious consequences.”
“And I am telling you that your luggage will be delivered directly to corporate headquarters this morning,” I replied smoothly.
He called me childish, throwing a temperamental fit over the intercom. I went completely still, letting his insults wash over me without leaving a mark. Then he delivered the one lie I had heard a dozen times too many, the ultimate insult to my intelligence.
“Nothing happened with Jasmine. We were just working late on the Q3 acquisition figures!”
That sentence hurt more than I expected. Not because I believed him for a single microsecond, but because he was still arrogant enough to think I might actually fall for it after everything.
“Goodbye, Aaron,” I whispered, cutting the intercom feed before he could scream another word.
At seven o’clock that morning, I walked through the towering glass doors of Prescott Global headquarters. I was pushing a luggage cart carrying Aaron’s two rolling suitcases, wearing a sharp charcoal blazer and carrying his spare executive security badge in my pocket, along with one thick, sealed manila envelope. Employees scattered across the lobby, whispering frantically, staring at me as if I were a ghost walking through a tomb.
I placed the suitcases neatly beside the main reception desk. Then I laid the spare executive badge and the sealed envelope directly on top of the luggage stack.
May you like
“These belong to my husband,” I announced to the paralyzed receptionist. “And that envelope contains a formal, proposed divorce settlement.”
I turned on my heel and walked out the front doors into the morning sun, leaving Aaron’s entire professional and personal life in absolute ruins before he even stepped foot inside the building.
