A furious heat surged through me. My hands slammed down on the glass coffee table and with a deafening crash, it shattered beneath my palms.
How could anyone be as shameless as Nathaniel?
He hadn’t even divorced me, yet he was already bringing his mistress into our home.
Our daughter was still here, yet he paraded his affair without the slightest shame.
He had crushed my love beneath his feet so completely that there was nothing left, not even sorrow. Only hate.
At that moment, all I wanted was to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until every last trace of arrogance drained from his face.
"You crazy wench, what the hell are you doing?!"
His palm struck my face with a sharp crack, the impact snapping my head to the side.
His nails scraped my skin, leaving behind a searing sting.
"Besides throwing tantrums, what else can you do?" His voice dripped with contempt.
"I let you manage my company and gave you status and respect; what more do you want?"
A blistering fury ignited inside me, burning away the last shred of restraint.
He had tossed everything aside to chase after Ophelia. She dumped the company on me, then drained its funds just to build her business from the ground up.
Because of him, the company had teetered on the edge of collapse.
And in the end, it wasn’t him who saved it. It was me, through my own connections and my own efforts.
Status? Respect?
Who would ever want the so-called privileges he spoke of when they were nothing more than shackles meant to keep me bound?
If I hadn’t spent years propping him up, pouring my talent into his company, I would have built my own empire long ago.
Why would I have ever willingly stayed trapped in something so small?
The shattering glass and our heated argument pierced the silence, stirring our sleeping daughter.
She peeked out of her room, her small hands gripping the doorframe. The moment her eyes landed on her father, the longing she had buried for so long overwhelmed her.
Summoning every ounce of courage, she rushed toward him.
"Daddy, you're back!"
"Hug me!"
"Get lost! You and your mother both make me sick."
She stumbled to the floor, her tiny hands scraping against the cold, hard ground.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t even make a sound. But her wide, tear-brimmed eyes spoke of the silent wounds only a child could bear.
She was only six. Just a little girl longing for her father’s love.