Chapter 4When His Devotion Came Too Late

I started packing.

Actually, there wasn't much to pack.

I'd lived in this so-called home for three years.

The things that belonged to me were pitifully few.

The walk-in closet was huge.

The left side was full of Adrian's custom-tailored suits.

The right side had several locked cabinets-for jewelry and designer bags.

Victoria held both the keys and fingerprint access.

Every time I attended a party, I had to ask Victoria's permission like I was borrowing props.

After using them, I had to return them.

Once, I accidentally got the hem of a dress dirty.

Victoria made me write a three-thousand-word self-criticism in front of the servants.

She also docked next month's "living expenses."

Adrian just watched from the side and said coolly, "Victoria's trying to teach you a lesson. These things are expensive. You couldn't afford to replace them."

Right.

I couldn't afford it.

I was an orphan. A "nobody" in their eyes.

I opened my little corner.

Inside hung a few pilled sweaters. Several faded jeans.

The only decent thing was the white T-shirt I'd worn when I married into this family three years ago.

Back then, I wasn't yet married to Adrian.

I was Northwestern University's youngest physics graduate student, a promising genius.

Adrian said he liked that cool, aloof quality about me.

He said, "Clara, marry me. I'll give you a home."

I believed him.

I gave up my chance to study abroad, ignored my mentor's pleas to stay.

I became a housewife, turned myself into a joke in this gilded cage.

I took off the "cheap" hoodie Adrian despised.

I put on that yellowed white T-shirt.

The jeans were a bit loose now.

Over these three years, I'd lost a full twenty pounds.

I pulled out a worn suitcase.

I packed a few books, some photos, and Dad's urn.

Nothing else.

Everything in this mansion had nothing to do with me.

I walked down the stairs.

The housekeeper Emma was polishing a vase. Seeing me with my suitcase, she rolled her eyes.

"Mrs. Hunt, running away from home again?"

"Mr. Hunt said if you walk out that door this time, don't expect to come back."

"Also, Mr. Hunt wants soup for dinner. Don't forget to make it."

In this house, even the servants looked down on me.

Because they knew I didn't even have the authority to pay their wages.

In fact, my "allowance" was less than their salaries.

I stopped and looked at Emma.

"Make the soup yourself. Or have Victoria make it."

Emma froze, apparently never having seen me this defiant.

"What's that attitude? Believe me, I'll tell Mr. Hunt..."

"Go ahead."

I pulled my suitcase and walked out the villa's front door without looking back.

The sunlight was blinding.

I raised my hand to shield my eyes.

Three years.

I'd finally walked out of this tomb.