Chapter 2 - The Sound of Leaving
The master suite smelled of him, of her, and of betrayal.
When I pushed open the double mahogany doors, Ivy was frantically throwing clothes into a designer duffel bag on our king-sized bed. My silk robe was crumpled on the floor by the footboard like discarded tissue paper. She was dressed in leather pants and a black silk camisole, her face pale and damp with nervous sweat.
When she saw me enter, she froze, clutching a pair of strappy heels to her chest like a shield.
"I'm leaving," she said, her voice shaking. "I called an Uber. It’s five minutes away."
"Use the back staircase," I said calmly, walking past her to my walk-in closet—a room larger than most Manhattan apartments, lined with backlit glass shelves, custom cedar cabinetry, and velvet-lined jewelry drawers. "And take your shoes off the bed. The Egyptian cotton has a four-hundred thread count. You’re tracking gravel onto it."
She didn't speak. She just scrambled out of the room, her footsteps quick and terrified. A moment later, I heard the faint thud of the service door closing downstairs.
I pulled two large Rimowa suitcases from the top shelf.
I didn't take everything. I didn't want his gifts. I didn't want the diamond tennis bracelets bought after he missed our anniversaries, or the Birkin bags delivered by personal couriers whenever his guilt flared up after a long weekend in New York.
I took what was mine.
I took the vintage Chanel jacket passed down from my grandmother. I took my mother’s sapphire ring. I took my passport, my birth certificate, and the hard drives containing my personal portfolio records from the small fireproof safe behind the dressing mirror. I packed three tailored suits, five pairs of shoes, and my everyday essentials.
I was zipping the second suitcase when Richard appeared in the doorway of the closet.
He had put on a blazer, trying instinctively to step back into the uniform of control, but his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were wild.
"You're not leaving," he said, stepping into the closet and planting himself between me and the doorway. "Eleanor, be rational. People like us do not blow up nine years of marriage over one indiscretion. We are a team. Rivers Global is about to go through the biggest merger in state history. The press will tear us apart."
"The press will tear *you* apart," I corrected him, hoisting the first suitcase onto its wheels. "I am simply going to exist without you."
"Think about your family! Think about what your father would say!"
A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "My father died four years ago, Richard. But if he were alive tonight, he would have brought his hunting rifle and escorted you off this property himself. Don't you dare invoke his name to save your skin."
"I love you!" he shouted, his voice cracking against the custom wood paneling. It was the first time I had heard him shout in five years. "Damn it, Eleanor, I love you! She meant nothing! It was an ego stroke! A pathetic, stupid ego stroke because you’ve been distant, because we haven't touched in months—"
"Do not make your weakness my fault." I stood tall, squaring my shoulders, looking him dead in the chest. "You slept with an associate in our bed because you are an empty, greedy man who cannot stand a room he cannot dominate. You didn't cheat because I was distant. I was distant because I finally saw through you."
He reached out, his hand wrapping around the handle of my suitcase, trying to hold it in place. "You walk out that door, Eleanor, and you leave with nothing. Every dime in our accounts is tied to my corporate entity. The house is in the trust. The cars belong to the firm. You will not destroy my empire and walk away rich."
There it was.
The threat. The true face of Richard Rivers when he couldn't charm, buy, or cajole his way out of a corner.
I looked at his hand on my suitcase, then back up to his eyes.
"Richard," I murmured, my voice chillingly sweet. "Did you forget who drafted the bylaws of the Rivers Family Trust?"
He went rigid.
"Did you forget whose trust fund capitalized Rivers Global when the banks wouldn't lend you ten million dollars after the 2016 bust?" I continued, stepping into his space until our faces were inches apart. "You own the public face. But the Vance trust holds the convertible debt notes that mature next quarter. You threaten my exit, and I will call David Ross tonight. By market open on Monday, Rivers Global will be facing a debt recall that will drop your stock forty percent before lunch."
His fingers loosened on the handle. The color abandoned his face entirely.
"You wouldn't," he whispered. "You'd ruin us both."
"No, darling," I said, catching the handle and rolling the heavy bag past him. "I'd ruin *you*. I survived before you, and I will be entirely comfortable after you."
I dragged both bags out of the closet, through the bedroom, and down the magnificent European staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs, George the doorman was waiting. He had summoned my personal Mercedes—the one registered strictly under my maiden name—to the circular driveway. The front doors were wide open, letting in the cool night air.
"Mrs. Rivers," George said softly, his elderly eyes filled with deep sympathy and absolute respect. He took the bags from my hands. "The car is running. I’ve placed your coat in the passenger seat."
"Thank you, George," I said, touching his sleeve. "You’ve been the only gentleman in this house for years."
Behind me, on the landing of the grand staircase, Richard stood in the shadows, gripping the gilded railing so tightly his knuckles were white.
"Eleanor!" he yelled down into the vast, echoing foyer. "If you drive away, there is no coming back! Do you hear me? You don't get to change your mind!"
I didn't even turn around.
May you like
I walked through the double doors, out into the humid Texas night, and listened to the sweetest sound I had heard in nine years: the heavy, final thud of the front door closing behind me.
***
