It was the Sterling family lawyer, a man named Robert who had always looked at me with thinly veiled distaste.
“Ms. Vance, the CEO wants to confirm you have signed the papers?”
“It is done,” I said, my voice steady. “Tell him he got exactly what he paid for.”
I walked down the stairs for the last time.
The living room was empty. They did not even bother to watch me leave.
Perfect.
I walked out the front door of the Sterling Estate, pulling my suitcase behind me.
The night air was cold and clean, washing away three years of suffocation.
I hailed a car using an app on my phone. I did not go to my parents. I did not want them to see me like this, broken and discarded.
They had warned me about marrying into money. They had told me the Sterlings would never accept a girl from Queens whose father taught high school history.
I had told them love was enough.
I had been so young. So stupid.
I checked into a hotel under my maiden name, Nora Vance, and lay in the clean, impersonal bed, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time in three years, I was alone.
For the first time in three years, I could breathe.
The next morning, I woke up nauseated and dizzy.