I watched the heavy velvet curtain swing shut behind him.
I turned back to the stage. The Phantom was singing about the music of the night, about darkness and despair.
I sat there alone in the private box, the diamond necklace feeling heavy and cold against my skin. The empty seat beside me was a perfect metaphor for my marriage.
I didn’t cry. I was done crying. I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. I had one more call to make before I left for Zurich.
I dialed the number of the shark lawyer my mother had recommended.
“Hello?” a gruff voice answered.
“This is Karylle,” I said, my voice steady and clear over the soaring music of the orchestra. “I’m ready. Draft the divorce papers and send them to me tomorrow.”
Before leaving, I had to attend the night of the merger celebration, otherwise, they’re going to think something was wrong. I had to pretend to be a good wife for the last time.
I smiled until my cheeks ached. I shook hands with investors, accepted condolences about the "miscarriage" with a graceful nod, and played the part of the supportive partner perfectly.