Chapter 5: No Going Back

Mrs. Whitmore called me back, but it was Harrison’s voice on the line.

I recognized his tone immediately—cool, detached, all business. I braced myself, knowing this conversation would be the final nail in the coffin.

“I’ve read the divorce agreement. I have some issues with a few points.”

His words were clipped, precise. I could picture him at his desk, glasses perched on his nose, every detail under control. I hated how familiar it all felt.

I stood at the hotel window, looking out at the city lights and the world blanketed in white.

The view was beautiful, almost peaceful. I watched the snow fall, each flake a tiny miracle, and wondered how something so gentle could cause so much pain.

Only when the dull ache in my heart finally surfaced did I find my voice:

“Fine, I’ll have my lawyer contact you.”

I tried to sound calm, but my voice trembled. I gripped the phone tighter, refusing to let him hear the hurt.

“Lillian, I don’t have time to go back and forth with your lawyer.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Let’s talk face-to-face. If it goes smoothly, I’ll sign right away.”

His tone left no room for argument. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come.

“Okay.”

“Where are you? I’ll have the driver pick you up.”

“No need. Just tell me where to meet, I’ll come.”

I wanted to keep some control, some dignity. I refused to let him dictate the terms, not anymore. Not anymore.

Because of the snow, I was about twenty minutes late.

I hurried through the icy streets, my breath coming in sharp bursts. My boots slipped on the sidewalk, my coat flapping in the wind. I hated being late, hated giving him another reason to look down on me.

Harrison hated it when people were late.

Punctuality was his religion. I knew he’d be angry, that he’d use it as another excuse to push me away.

When I arrived, he was checking his watch, his face dark with displeasure.

He looked up as I entered, his eyes cold and unforgiving. The room felt smaller with him in it, the air thick with unspoken words.

Seeing me, he grew even colder, the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose glinting with icy indifference.

He didn’t smile, didn’t offer a greeting. Just a silent, pointed glance that made me feel like an intruder in my own life. So cold.

I lowered my head and let out a soft laugh.

The sound was bitter, more sigh than laughter. I wondered when I’d stopped being his wife and started being a burden.

When you don’t like someone, even the smallest mistake is intolerable.

It was a lesson I’d learned the hard way. Every misstep, every flaw, magnified under his gaze. I wondered if he’d ever really seen me at all.

“Sorry, there was traffic…”

“Your excuses aren’t my problem.”

His words were sharp, dismissive. I bit my lip, swallowing the apology I’d rehearsed on the way over. Swallow it. Don’t let him see.

I took a deep breath and stood before him: “Sorry for wasting your precious time.”

I tried to keep my voice steady, to sound strong. But inside, I was crumbling.

His hand paused on the divorce agreement: “Sit down.”

I sat across from him. “Which parts do you disagree with?”

He flipped through the pages, his expression unreadable. I waited, heart pounding, for the verdict. Just say it already.

“Grandpa said before we got married that if we divorced within ten years, no matter who was at fault, I wouldn’t get his shares.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh.

“You know that, Lillian, so you’re deliberately filing for divorce to threaten me?”

I slowly looked up, meeting his gaze.

This man, my husband of three years, the one I’d secretly loved since I was young—he was someone I’d never truly understood, never gotten close to.

He pushed the divorce agreement toward me and stood up, his tone brooking no argument.

“Go pack your things. Come back to Maple Heights with me tonight, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened…”

“Harrison.”

I cut him off.

“I’ll talk to Grandpa myself. It won’t affect your inheritance.”

“Lillian, you know how much Grandpa dotes on you. He forced you on me once; he won’t let you go easily now.”

He tugged at his tie, his expression cold and his voice even colder. Colder than ever.

It felt like my heart had been ripped open, raw and bleeding.

After three years, he finally said what he’d kept buried all this time.

How hard it must have been for him—a man with the world at his feet—to put up with this.

I wanted to laugh, but my eyes stung.

I didn’t want to cry, but the tears came anyway. Stupid tears.

“I’m sorry, Harrison.”

I clutched the divorce agreement, my voice trembling so hard I shook all over.

“Sorry for wasting three years of your life, for taking the title of Mrs. Whitmore.”

“Lillian…”

“Anyway, I’ll do everything I can to make Grandpa take back his decision, so you won’t be put in a tough spot.”

I turned to leave.

After just two steps, his voice called out behind me:

“Now you’re upset, but didn’t you think about that when you set me up?”

I stopped and looked at him. “Set you up?”

He gave a cold, dismissive laugh and looked away: “Lillian, I’m giving you one chance.”

“Come back to Maple Heights tonight, and I’ll wipe the slate clean.”

“Harrison, I’ll never go back.”

Three seconds. Felt like forever. He stared at me for three seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was icy:

“Suit yourself.”