Chapter 7
Valerie usually piked up his calls within seconds.
She’d even set him as a VIP–his number always came through, day or night.
But not tonight. Tonight is silence.
Brandon paced the
floor, eyes wild with frustration. Clarissa bit her lip and tried to soothe him.
“She’s blocked you, Bran. Why keep chasing after a woman like that? She’s easy. Replaceable. Why not just marry me instead?”
His eyes snapped to her, sharp and furious.
“Get. Out.”
Clarissa flinched.
“I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear you.”
The housekeeper appeared silently, gently guiding Clarissa out as she stared back in disbelief.
Just then, both phones buzzed at the same time.
“The wedding is scheduled. The sooner you marry, the less gossip we have to deal with. Don’t humiliate the Westwood name any further.”
It was from Grandma.
Brandon quickly opened a new thread and started typing back, trying to ask where Valerie was.
But it didn’t go through.
She’d blocked him too.
He lowered the phone slowly, like it had turned to stone in his hand.
Then he shut it off entirely, face like ice, and walked upstairs.
He locked the bedroom door behind him.
And when he saw the camera in the corner–still intact, still recording–he lunged for it, smashing it to pieces.
His breath came in sharp bursts. Chest heaving. Mind spiraling.
She was gone.
Valerie had left without a word; Without begging; Without crying.
She’d signed the annulment. Just like that.
That
same woman who’d tiptoed around him for five years — who never once disobeyed him,
She’d always done exactly what he said.
He told her not to touch him–so she didn’t,
He told her to soak in disinfectant and memorize submissive “conduct codes“-so she did, for hours, without complaint.
And now she’d just… disappeared?
Something inside him coiled, cold and tight.
Had he… gone too far?
A wave of panic surged through him.
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He grabbed his phone and dialed a number he never thought he’d use.
“Find her,” he told the private investigator. Valerie Greene. I need to know where she is. Now.”
On the way to the airport, Grandma Westwood’s personal driver asked gently, “Miss Greene, do you have a destination in mind?”
My head was cloudy, but the answer slipped out on instinct.
“Bellmere.”
Before marrying Brandon, my heart had always belonged to someone else.
Lucas Campbell. We’d met overseas during college.
If it weren’t for the arranged marriage, we might’ve ended up together long ago.
And now, broken and lost, he was the first person I thought of.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was in a warm apartment. Soft light. Clean sheets.
“Valerie… you’re awake.
Lucas’s familiar face came into view–gentle and warm.
And just like that, I shattered.
All the strength I’d forced myself to hold onto dissolved. I clung to him and sobbed.
Brandon hadn’t just stripped me he’d locked me in a glass box–on display, objectified, dehumanized. He didn’t just break my body.
He shattered everything I was.
“I’ve got you,” Lucas whispered, holding me tighter. “You’re safe now. I’m right here.”
It was the first real embrace I’d felt in five years.
Brandon used to accuse me of being manipulative–always acting like I was scheming for affection.
But all I ever wanted… was this.
To be held like I mattered. It was over now.
The silence, the shame, the pain–I was finally free.
I sat with Lucas for hours, spilling everything.
Why I left him. Why I married Brandon.
The years of silence, of washing sheets three times a day, of pretending I was okay.
Lucas listened. Patient. Kind.
When I finally stopped rambling, he looked into my eyes and said, softly:
“If I told you I’ve been waiting for you all this time… would that make you a little happier?”
My heart stopped.
Of course it made me happy.
But was it fair to let him wait this long?
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In the following days, I stayed with Lucas.
Out of habit, I cleaned the apartment. Scrubbed the floors. Washed everything by hand.
Until one day, he stopped me. His eyes fell on my cracked, inflamed hands, and a flicker of pain crossed his face.
“You don’t need to do that anymore,” he said gently. “Just toss it in the washer, okay? You don’t have to hurt yourself.”
Under his quiet care, I slowly learned to let go.
To breathe.
To rest.
Then one evening, on our way to buy groceries–I saw the last person I ever wanted to see again.
Chapter 7
