I lowered the phone. My mood sank lower. I'd heard this busy signal countless times over two years. Each one a silent mockery of how little I mattered to Lucas.
"Told you. He won't answer." I looked up at Joe, eyes burning, still clinging to dignity.
I'd proven my point to Joe. I just hoped he'd understand how wrecked my marriage was.
Joe's face flashed with helplessness and regret. "I'm sorry, Ella. I didn't mean to..." He stopped abruptly, clearly not knowing how to finish.
This was why I fought so hard to hide this marriage. I didn't want that look—the look you'd give the world's most pathetic victim. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing back the tears threatening to spill.
I couldn't stay any longer. I'd said too much to Joe. I felt humiliated. I hurried through goodbyes and took the black umbrella he insisted I have. Joe's dorm was a few minutes' walk. For me, hiking back in this godforsaken storm would take at least an hour.
Two miles felt like an exercise in good weather. But on this rain-soaked night, it was endless torture. Within minutes, I was drenched. My flats filled with water, each step heavy as dragging a lead weight. I kept refreshing the ride app, jacking the tip to ten times normal, but not a single taxi icon appeared on the map.
A private car tore through the rain, and I glimpsed a family of three inside, warm light, dry comfort.
I felt my strength drain away. I stood frozen in the freezing water.
I'd imagined scenes like that once. A husband who came home from work. Maybe a kid someday. We'd fight over small things, then make up on the couch. But the heartbreaking reality was far more absurd. Two years married, and I could count on one hand how many times I'd seen my legal husband.
Work was his entire world.
Always overtime, always traveling, always in endless international meetings. Every night, he'd return to the manor long after I'd fallen asleep, bringing cold air with him. When I woke each morning, only the wrinkled sheets confirmed he'd been there at all. The past two months, he'd stopped even that hollow gesture.
Lost in thought, I missed a hidden dip. My foot slipped, body lurching out of control. My knee slammed into the pavement.
Phone and umbrella flew. I lay exposed to the downpour. Sharp pain radiated from my knee. Blood mixed with mud streamed from the torn flesh. I tried to push myself up, but the slightest muscle movement sent blackness across my vision.
I couldn't even cry. I dragged my injured leg, scrambling to retrieve the umbrella and phone.
Grief and despair finally broke through like a dam bursting. With trembling hands, I pressed that bone-deep familiar number again.
Lucas used to answer. Early in our marriage, when I still held a shred of his attention. I prayed silently for that miracle again. I couldn't walk anymore. I was in pain, freezing, miserable. I felt hypothermia setting in.
The phone rang. "Hello, this is Lucas Rockefeller. I..."
Out of spite, I hung up. Dialed again. No answer. Third time. Fourth. Fifteenth. Each long wait ended only with that emotionless automated voice.
I stared at the screen, tears streaming. As I prepared to dial the sixteenth time, a merciless low battery warning popped up. Then the screen died in front of me without warning.
My last connection to the world severed. I stared at the black screen and finally collapsed into sobs in that silent, frozen rain.
I once thought my husband would be my shelter. Now I knew better. Nobody would truly help me. My future stretched out like this endless downpour—infinite and ice-cold.
I don't know how long it took. Sheer willpower dragged me back to Rockefeller Manor.
At the facial recognition screen, my reflection startled me: ashen face, purple lips, tangled hair, looking like a monster crawled from the depths. To avoid the staff, I snuck in through the back door like a thief. The heavy door shut out the storm. The manor's heating wrapped around me instantly. The extreme temperature shift made me shudder, teeth chattering.
A hot bath would fix everything. I'd be fine. I told myself numbly.
But passing the second-floor study, raised voices through the half-open door nailed my feet to the floor.
"Lucas! You haven't been home in two months! What do you think this place is, a hotel?"
I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but Mr. Rockefeller's roar was impossible to miss.
"You should ask yourself that." Lucas, cold as ever. I couldn't help edging closer. I wanted to know what Lucas was thinking, too.
"What should I reflect on? I built everything for you. Rockefeller Group, and a traditional, obedient wife."
