Chapter 5
James refused to let me go.
Every day, he found excuses to be near me. He’d show up at odd hours, sit on the sofa in my room at night and insist on “keeping watch” as if his presence were some kind of balm for my wounds. I spent those hours seething silently, ignoring him whenever I could. But he was relentless–always patient, always watching.
It wasn’t touching. Not at all. If anything, his constant presence made me sick to my core. How dare he act affectionate now, after tormenting me to the edge of despair? It was a grotesque show of hypocrisy.
I was too weak to argue at first; the grief had
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drained me. I ate so little, refused the nutritional shots and my health declined quickly. The doctor on standby attended to me day and night and James responded by increasing the villa’s security. Every time he left for work, he left two guards stationed outside my bedroom door, as if I were some kind of prisoner.
After a week of this confinement, I finally snapped.
The moment he walked in from a long day at work, looking weary but expectant, I forced myself up, bracing my shaky body and confronted him. “Can you stop guarding me like I’m some kind of criminal?” I
demanded, my voice trembling with frustration.
He looked taken aback, clearly not expecting
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this kind of reception. His brows furrowed, the faintest sign of irritation breaking through his mask of calm. But I was past caring. If he was angry, maybe, just maybe, he’d finally set me free.
Instead, his expression softened the instant he realized it was me standing there.
“Nadine?” he said gently, reaching out to steady me, a trace of genuine concern in his voice. “You should have put on a jacket before coming downstairs. You‘ re still recovering.”
I jerked my arm from his grasp. “I’m fine,” I replied coldly.
Ignoring my tone, he waved a hand and a line of servants entered, each one carrying boxes of my favorite desserts. “I brought your favorite taro pastries,” he said, as though
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nothing had changed. “Won’t you try them?”
It looked like he hadn’t just bought a few pastries; he’d practically brought the whole bakery home with him. I turned away, resisting the urge to throw every last box on the floor. He was insistent, going to extremes and yet, nothing could make up for the pain he‘ d caused.
From that day on, I found little ways to make his life difficult. I ignored his gestures, knocked over his carefully chosen gifts, or broke the hand–crafted ornaments he brought to apologize. Day by day, his patience wore thin. Finally, after I had thrown his twenty- sixth apology gift in the trash, he snapped. His voice, sharp and raw, echoed through the room, “What on earth will it take to make
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you happy, Nadine?”
For a fleeting moment, the fire in his voice made me falter. But I stood my ground, drawing a deep breath and speaking with all the strength I could muster. “I’ve only ever wanted one thing from you, James–just let me go.”
A shadow passed over his face as he shook his head, his jaw set stubbornly. I picked up the shattered gift from the floor, tempted to throw it away again, just to remind him how little his so–called apologies meant to me.
He must have misinterpreted my intentions, though, because in one sudden, panicked motion, he slapped the object from my hand. The force knocked me backward and I
stumbled, hitting my forehead against the sharp corner of the table.
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The pain shot through me, blinding and sharp and for a second, everything blurred. My private doctor rushed in, tending to my injuries as James stood by, his face stricken with something close to horror.
But remorse was a poor substitute for the agony he’d caused. The next day, he stayed home from work, hovering around me as if that would somehow make a difference. To my disgust, Sandra even showed up at the villa unannounced.
I forced myself to endure her
presence, responding to her greetings with the barest nods. She, however, seemed unfazed, smiling as if nothing were amiss. After some pleasantries, she reached into her bag, producing a small, ornate invitation, which she extended to me.
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“Nadine,” she said in her usual sugary tone,
“James and I are getting married at the end of next month. You should recover and come celebrate with us.”
I blinked, certain I hadn‘ t heard her right. Seeing my confusion, she repeated herself, her voice soft and light, before leaning into James, her hand resting on his shoulder.
My stomach churned. All the while James had been professing his devotion to me, his plans with Sandra had clearly been moving
forward. The very same man who had promised we‘ d “start a family again” was here, silent, a mere accessory to Sandra‘ s brazen announcement.
Summoning all my strength, I forced myself to respond, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.
“Sure.” I said coldly. “I’ll be there.”
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That night, Sandra stayed over, her laughter ringing through the halls as if she were the true lady of the house. When I noticed that the guards outside my bedroom door had left their posts, no doubt distracted by Sandra and James, I seized the chance. I gathered what little I needed, slipped out and under the cover of night, I fled from the villa.
I felt the chill of the night air as I left everything I’d ever known behind.
