Chapter 4Keeping The Eight Million For Myself

After securing the "inheritance," I took a week-long solo trip to the coast. I spent money on things I’d always denied myself—expensive wine, silk sheets, a spa treatment that made my skin feel like a human's again.

Richard sent me a barrage of texts every day.

[I’m sick of seeing your junk in the hallway. Get back here and move your stuff out!]

[How long are you going to hide? We need to sign the final papers.]

When I finally returned, the neighbors stared. I looked rested. I looked younger.

"Going through a divorce suits you, Elena!" one of them joked.

I laughed. "It turns out not taking care of a grown man is the best skincare routine there is."

We lived on the second floor. I looked up and saw Skye on the balcony, looking down at us with a scowl.

I walked into the apartment and realized my slippers were gone. Whatever. I didn't need them.

The place was transformed. Every piece of furniture I’d picked out was gone. Even the curtains had been replaced with something tacky and over-the-top.

Skye walked out of the kitchen, looking smug. "I threw your stuff out, Elena. Your taste was... depressing. I hope you don't mind. You’re leaving anyway, right?"

I remained calm. "Actually, I like it. It saves me the trouble of looking at things I’m tired of."

Her smile faltered. Young girls are so impatient; they expect you to crumble. "Listen to me, you old hag! Richard doesn't want you! Look at these!"

She pointed to the walls. Our wedding photos had been replaced by glossy shots of her and Richard. There was a "family" portrait of Richard, Skye, and Natalie.

"There's no room for you here anymore," she hissed.

I glanced at the photos. "Technically, we haven't finalized the paperwork. Legally, I’m still his wife. And legally, this is still my home."

"So what? He doesn't love you! You’re nothing!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the apartment building.

Just then, the front door—which I’d left ajar—was pushed open. A middle-aged couple rushed in, faces flushed with rage.

"Skye!" the man roared.

Skye turned white. "Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?"

She looked at me, realization dawning. "You! You called them!"

Before she could finish, her father stepped forward and slapped her across the face. "We worked ourselves to the bone to put you through school, and you spend your time breaking up a marriage? You’re coming home right now!"

Richard walked in from work at that exact moment. He tried to play the 'distinguished professor,' tried to "reason" with them.

Skye’s father didn't want to talk. He chased Richard around the living room, swinging his briefcase until Richard was cowering behind the sofa with a bloody nose.

After they dragged a screaming Skye out of the apartment, Richard wiped his face and looked at me with pure hatred. "We’re going to the courthouse this afternoon. I am giving Skye the life she deserves, and you are not going to stop me!"

I smiled. "You think you can handle her parents?"

"That’s my business! Just sign the papers!"

I shook my head slowly. "I’ve been thinking. I don't think I want a divorce anymore."