But I never would again.
I wiped away my tears and took a deep breath.
Then I booked the earliest flight out.
All that packing over the past few days, sorting through my belongings, closing out the company, was just me being reluctant to leave a place I’d lived in for years. A home I hadn’t fully let go of.
But really, as the Victorians’s eldest daughter, what couldn’t I buy again? What company couldn’t I rebuild?
The reason I hadn’t left right away was never about those worthless things.
And now, none of it mattered.
At the airport, my lawyer’s message came through.
[Ma’am, all divorce procedures have been fully completed.]
[The terms of the divorce agreement are being enforced, and your ex-husband is about to lose everything.]
With a faint smile playing on my lips, I transferred the funds from my bank account to the law firm. I snapped a screenshot and sent it to my lawyer: "Thank you for your help. Please find the receipt for my legal fees attached."
Moments before the plane took off, I found the contact info for Viggo and his family and blocked them for good.
"Happy divorce, Viggo. Soon enough, you'll realize that the one leaving with nothing isn't me—it’s you."
Three days later, thinking everything was settled, convinced he still had me under control, Viggo smirked as he called the house landline.
He was waiting for me to cry, to apologize, to beg him to come home.
Instead, a stranger answered.
“Hello, this is a real estate agency.”
“The property has already been sold. Please return as soon as possible to collect your personal belongings. Otherwise, they will be disposed of in the community trash area.”
At the same time, Carmilla, face mask on, voice lazy, drawled from beside him.
“Honey, when can we move back into the big house?”
“Mariah still hasn’t apologized yet?”
