Chapter 4

• Emma leaned into his arms, unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips, and even put on a fake troubled face.
• “Hank, don’t be mad. Margot just lost her head for a minute. Once she cools off, she’ll be fine…”
• She clutched her ankle, brows knitted in pain, and burrowed closer to Hank.
• Hank pulled her in tighter and glared at me.
• “Margot, last chance. Apologize to Emma right now and I’ll pretend none of this happened.”
• “No need," I said. "If you won’t do a settlement divorce, I'll just see you in court. My lawyer will contact you.”
• I tore his so-called agreement into confetti and let the shreds rain to the floor.
• Hank stared me down, eyes tangled with anger, disbelief, and maybe a flicker of panic.
• He still couldn’t figure out why I dared to ask for a divorce.
• “Margot, you’re gonna regret this.”
• He threw that out, wrapped an arm around Emma, and turned to leave.
• At the door he glanced back, looking at me like I was something filthy.
• “Until you learn to apologize, don’t expect a single dime.”
• He slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.
• My phone chimed again and again. Bank texts. Every card under my name had been frozen.
• I looked at the messages and let out a small, bitter laugh. Not surprised at all.
• I used to think Hank and I would be like my parents, in love for a lifetime.
• Turns out I was a joke.
• I grabbed my things, left the hospital, and took a cab to what used to be our home.
• At the door, the fingerprint lock beeped three times—access denied.
• I entered the code three times. All wrong.
• The door opened from the inside. Emma stood there in my silk nightgown, my mother’s necklace around her neck, lounging against the doorframe with a smile.
• “Well, well. What are you doing back here? Regretting it already? Here to beg Hank for forgiveness?”
• “Don’t waste your breath," she snapped. "Hank said this house is mine now. Get moving. Don’t dirty up my place.”
• She deliberately tugged the neckline of the slip, showing off the hickeys along her collarbone.
• I ignored her and shoved past her into the house.
• “I threw your crap out ages ago. What are you even looking for?”
• Half a month gone, and the place was unrecognizable.
• Our wedding photo had been taken down and tossed in a corner, coated in dust.
• The ceramic pieces my mother left me were gone. The living room was lined with Emma’s luxury bags.
• “Looking for your junk? Might be piled on the balcony, waiting for the scrap guy.”
• Emma followed at my heels, voice bright with smug delight.
• I stepped onto the balcony. A few boxes were stacked in the corner—my mom’s journals and the mementos from my whole childhood.
• The top journal had been soaked; the page edges were pulp.
• Those journals were the only piece of my mother I had left.
• Emma snatched up one that was still intact and, with a sneer, started tearing it apart.
• “Your mother’s dead. Why keep this crap? It’s bad luck.”
• My blood blasted to my head. I lunged to grab it.
• She dodged back, chin tipped up, smirking.
• “Stop!”
• Hank’s voice came from the doorway.
• He strode over, shoved me aside, and shielded Emma.
• My back slammed into the balcony rail. Pain punched the breath out of me.
• “Margot, haven't you had enough? Didn’t you want a divorce? What are you still doing in my house? Get out!”
• Emma hid behind him, grinning at me, smug as hell.
• I stared at the shredded journal, then at the man I’d loved for five years.
• Whatever hope I had left shattered right there.
• I didn’t say a word. I crouched and picked up the scraps one by one.
• Every piece felt like a knife to the heart.
• That night, I hired a private investigator. One request: get me every bit of proof of Hank and Emma’s affair. The more, the better.
• He worked fast. Three days later, the files hit my inbox.
• When my mom was in the hospital, he said he was slammed and had to travel for work. In reality, he took Emma to the beach.
• The day my mother died, I couldn’t reach him—he was out shopping with Emma.
• The file also had records of his transfers to Emma, the home purchase contract, and the car payment receipts.
• Line by line, crystal clear.
• There was even security footage of Emma slipping other pills into my medicine.
• I bundled everything and sent it to my attorney.
• “File for divorce. Sue them both. And I want every cent of the seed money I put into him—everything he owes me, I’m taking back.”
• My lawyer replied fast. The evidence was solid. Slam dunk.
• I put down my phone and called my grandpa, Gabriel.
• “Grandpa, I’m done propping up Hank. I’m coming back to the company tomorrow to take over the family business.”
• I bought the next flight to France—back to the life I should’ve been living.
• Meanwhile, at Hank Johnson’s company, his assistant burst into his office in a panic.
• “Mr. Johnson, it’s bad! Every partner just sent termination letters, and the bank’s calling in our loans!”