Chapter 3: Rings Off, Hearts Exposed

After that, I didn’t see Noah for days.

The house felt emptier than ever. I threw myself into work, desperate for distraction.

We worked in different places—he had his company, I had my father’s business to run.

Our lives barely overlapped. The distance between us grew wider with each passing day.

One night while working late, I got a call from Ben.

The office was quiet, the only light coming from my desk lamp. Ben’s name flashed on my screen, his voice urgent.

He sounded anxious. “Ma’am, Mr. Ellison said he was going to a bar, but now I can’t reach him. Could you go check on him?”

He sounded frantic, words tumbling over each other. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, but agreed.

I agreed, hung up, changed clothes, and drove to the bar downtown.

The city lights blurred past as I sped through the night, mind racing with worst-case scenarios. I parked in a hurry, heels clicking against the pavement as I made my way inside.

After finding out which private room Noah was in, I walked to the door.

The music thumped through the walls, laughter spilling out from under the door. I paused, bracing myself.

It was ajar.

I pushed it open just enough to see inside, heart pounding.

Inside, several boldly dressed women kept glancing at Noah, but none dared approach.

They hovered at the edge of the booth, eyes lingering on him, but something about his demeanor kept them at bay.

Someone teased, “Mr. Ellison, what brings you here tonight? Not keeping your wife company?”

The question was playful, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity, maybe even jealousy.

Noah held a glass carelessly, glancing over lazily. “Already sick of her.”

His words were casual, almost bored. He swirled the drink, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

Someone noticed his hand. “Then why are you still wearing that ring?”

The silver band gleamed in the dim light, a silent testament to our marriage.

Everyone’s eyes went to his hand.

The room fell quiet, all attention fixed on that simple band.

He twisted it absently, as if it meant nothing.

Noah didn’t remember where the ring came from, and he didn’t care. He took it off and tossed it to the floor. “It’s just a stupid ring—what’s so special about it?”

The metal clinked against the tiles, spinning twice before disappearing under a chair.

The ring rolled twice and disappeared.

I watched it go, heart clenching. It felt like a final, silent goodbye.

Everyone started cheering. “Alright, we’re not leaving till we’re drunk tonight!”

The mood shifted, the tension broken. Laughter filled the room, but I felt cold.

With the ring gone, one woman finally found the courage to approach. She picked up a bottle, poured him a drink, and held the glass to his lips. “Mr. Ellison, let me feed you.”

She leaned in, her perfume cloying, her smile too bright. Noah didn’t protest.

That’s when I walked in.

I stepped into the room, the heels of my shoes clicking against the hardwood. Heads turned, eyes widening in surprise.

A beautiful woman sat beside Noah, holding a glass, practically pressed up against him.

She froze, hand halfway to his mouth, eyes darting to mine.

Noah’s ring finger was bare.

I took in the scene, my face expressionless, heart pounding.

I calmly surveyed the scene, eyes flicking over every face, daring anyone to say a word. I let my gaze linger, cool and steady.

The room went silent. Everyone who’d been slouching straightened up.

The tension was thick enough to cut. The party atmosphere vanished like a popped bubble.

Someone spoke first, awkwardly. “Uh… hi, Mrs. Ellison.”

Her voice was small, uncertain. She slid away from Noah, putting distance between them.

So everyone else quickly echoed, “Hello, Mrs. Ellison.”

The chorus was nervous, forced. I almost smiled.

I walked in slowly, heels clicking.

Each step felt like a declaration. I kept my chin high, refusing to let them see me falter.

The music stopped. You could hear a pin drop.

The silence was deafening, all eyes on me.

I stopped in front of Noah, smiled at them. “No need to call me that anymore.”

My voice was calm, almost gentle. I let the words settle, watching the confusion ripple through the room.

Noah’s usual smile was gone. He stared at me coldly. “Autumn, what do you mean?”

His eyes searched mine, but I gave him nothing.

I calmly took off my ring and set it in front of him.

The metal was cool against my palm. I placed it carefully on the table, not trusting myself to look up.

I looked down, not meeting his eyes, and said softly, “Nothing. Just returning your ring.”

The words tasted bitter, but I said them anyway. I wouldn’t let him see me break.

In that too-quiet room, I ended it.

The silence was absolute. No one dared breathe.

“Noah, let’s get divorced. Let’s end this on good terms.”

I forced the words out, voice steady. I owed myself that much.

Without looking at his reaction, I turned and left.

My footsteps echoed behind me, each step a little lighter. I didn’t look back.

Back home, I quietly started packing my things.

I moved through the house like a ghost, folding clothes, tucking away memories. The rooms felt emptier with every box I filled.

Soon after, I heard the front door open.

The slam was loud, desperate. I froze, suitcase in hand.

Noah, usually so put together, looked a mess as he rushed in, breathless, and grabbed my hand as I packed.

His hair was tousled, shirt untucked, eyes wild. He clung to my wrist like a lifeline.

I kept my eyes down.

I couldn’t bear to look at him, not when he was so close, so far away.

His eyes were icy. “Where do you think you’re going? To your Chase?”

His voice was sharp, almost accusing. I bristled, anger flaring.

I raised my eyes, throwing the question back at him. “What do you think?”

My tone was flat, challenging. I wouldn’t let him see how much it hurt.

A frown creased his brow, but his tone was edged with a frantic, wounded vulnerability he probably didn’t even realize. “So I’m just his stand-in, and now you’re bored and tossing me aside?”

His voice cracked, the bravado slipping. I almost felt sorry for him.

“For someone like him, you’d even give up your pride as a Graves?”

He spat the words, but his eyes were pleading, desperate for reassurance.

“Go ahead, I’m not stopping you.”

He dropped my hand, stepping back, arms crossing tight over his chest. The loss of his touch stung, colder than I expected.

I almost laughed, just about to retort—

The absurdity of it all hit me. I opened my mouth, ready to snap back.

Aunt Linda, who’d been quietly eavesdropping in the hallway, suddenly piped up.

She’d been standing in the doorway, dish towel in hand, eyes wide with confusion.

She sounded completely lost, having tried and failed to follow our conversation. Finally, she blurted out, “Wait a minute, sir, she was calling for you. Who else would Mrs. Ellison go to if not you?”

Her words hung in the air, simple and true. The silence that followed was deafening.

The room went silent.

No one moved. Even the clock seemed to stop ticking.

After a long pause—

Noah slowly let go of my wrist, blinking.

He stared at Aunt Linda, then at me, confusion dawning in his eyes.

The tension around him eased a bit. He looked at me, and a light seemed to slowly return to his eyes. “That night… you were calling me?”

His voice was small, hopeful. I hesitated, not trusting myself to answer.

He straightened, waiting quietly for my answer.

He stood tall, shoulders squared, as if bracing for impact.

It was like, as long as I nodded, he’d drop all his defenses.

I saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the desperate hope. My heart ached.

I gave a cold laugh. “Didn’t Mr. Ellison already say he was sick of me? What difference does it make?”

I forced the words out, refusing to let him see me cry. The bitterness tasted like ash.

I shoved the suitcase into his hands, laying down the law. “By the way, your things are packed. This house is in my name, so please leave.”

I gestured toward the door, my voice steady. I wouldn’t let him take this last piece of me.

That’s right.

I remembered the day we signed the papers, the way he’d smiled and said, “If we ever fight, I’ll be the one to leave.” I never thought we’d get here.

When we first got married, Noah had transferred half his assets to me, including this house.

He’d insisted on it, saying it was only fair. I’d thought it was romantic—now it felt like a cruel joke.

He’d said, if we ever fought, he should be the one to sleep elsewhere—not me running away from home.

His words echoed in my mind, bittersweet. I wondered if he remembered them now.

I never thought that day would really come.

Yet here we were, standing on opposite sides of a line neither of us could cross.