Chapter 8
Across town, the luxury apartment Thomas and Victoria shared felt more like a prison cell. Boxes were piled haphazardly near the front door as Victoria frantically tossed her designer clothes and jewelry into leather suitcases. Her face was pale, devoid of the smug confidence she had worn like armor at the banquet. Thomas sat slumped on the edge of the velvet sofa, staring blankly at a bottle of scotch on the coffee table, looking every bit of his fifty years and more. The corporate suspension had turned into a full termination, and his bank accounts were officially locked tight.
Victoria zipped a suitcase shut with a sharp, aggressive tug and stood up, glaring down at Thomas with undisguised contempt. "I’m leaving, Thomas. My lawyer is already drawing up the separation papers," she snapped, her voice ringing sharply in the tense room. Thomas didn't even look up; he just let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Leaving? Where are you going, Victoria? You spent every dime of your own savings trying to keep up with my lifestyle, and now my accounts are frozen. Who’s going to fund your high-society lifestyle now?"
"Anyone who doesn't carry your toxic baggage!" Victoria fired back, grabbing her handbag and marching toward the door. "At least I still have my youth and my child—a child you swore would secure us everything, but instead brought us straight to ruin." Thomas finally raised his head, his eyes bloodshot and filled with dangerous rage. "That child was supposed to be our golden ticket, Victoria! Don't act like you didn't orchestrate this entire charade with me. You knew about my medical report before we even announced the pregnancy. You pushed me to keep lying to Elena!"
Victoria stopped with her hand on the doorknob, her expression hardening into a mask of pure ice. "We made a bet, Thomas, and we lost. Don't try to pin your utter incompetence on me. I’m cutting my losses before your creditors start seizing the furniture." With a sharp click of the lock, she pulled the door open and slammed it behind her, leaving Thomas completely alone in the echoing emptiness of the apartment. The silence that followed was deafening, the ultimate consequence of a life built entirely on exploitation and deceit.
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Thomas sat frozen for a long moment before grabbing his half-empty glass and hurling it across the room. It shattered against the wall, leaving a dark, dripping stain of amber liquid that slowly ran down the expensive wallpaper. He had lost his wife, his mistress, his company, and his reputation within less than twenty-four hours. The high-society world he had dominated for a decade had closed its ranks and cast him out into the cold without a second glance. Desperation clawed at his chest, but there was no one left to manipulate, no one left to blame.
He pulled his phone from his pocket with shaking hands, scrolling through his contacts until he found Elena’s number. He stared at her name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. He had nothing left to lose, and in his fractured mind, perhaps she was his last remaining lifeline. He pressed call, holding the phone tightly to his ear, waiting through the long, agonizing rings, praying against all odds that she might still answer and offer him a shred of mercy.
