Chapter 4

Roberta's POV

Even though I've made up my mind about the divorce, I still can't sleep peacefully. I want to ask Grayson why all of this happened.

I sat up and reached for my phone.

I pulled up Grayson's contact and hit the call button. My finger slipped on the screen and accidentally pressed video call.

I started to cancel, but the call connected.

Gemma's face filled the screen.

She was wearing a robe, her hair messy, smiling.

"Oh, Roberta." Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "Grayson's in the shower."

I noticed the familiar decor behind her. The custom floor pattern I'd personally selected.

A wave of dizziness hit me. This place, we'd decorated it together. Our secret hideaway. Our sanctuary.

My throat tightened. "Where are you?"

"Here?" She laughed and turned the camera. "This is Grayson's private space. What, you didn't know?"

Of course I knew. We'd discovered this hidden gem together three years into our marriage, tucked away on a quiet street. The place wasn't fancy, but I loved it.

When we fought, I'd hide there and wait for him to come find me.

Grayson made me a promise the day we bought it.

"This is our secret. No one else gets to come here. Not family, not friends, not even a cleaning service. Just us. I'll handle everything myself."

I'd laughed. "You're going to clean?"

"For you? I'll do anything."

Now Gemma stood in our secret hideaway wearing his robe, smiling at me through his phone, and I felt like I'd been plunged into ice water.

"Actually," Gemma said, "Grayson doesn't love you anymore. He's only staying because of your family. He's too scared to ask for a divorce."

I couldn't speak. My mouth opened but nothing came out.

"Let him..." I finally managed. "Let him call me back."

"Sure." Her smile grew brighter. "But it might be a while. He's exhausted."

She hung up.

I sat there staring at the blank screen. I could barely breathe. My chest felt like it was being torn apart.

He'd brought her there. To the place that was supposed to be sacred, the place I thought we'd kept safe from all the ugliness in our lives.

My phone vibrated again.

A message from Gemma.

I opened it and the video started playing automatically.

Gemma stood in front of a mirror, adjusting something at her neck. Then she stepped back so I could see clearly.

An emerald necklace.

My emerald necklace. The one Grayson had bankrupted himself to buy. The one he'd used to propose.

"See?" Gemma's voice was soft. "Isn't it beautiful? Grayson says only someone who truly appreciates it deserves to wear it."

The phone slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor. Suddenly Grayson's voice echoed in my ears, his voice from the proposal, rough with emotion, telling me this necklace represented true love. The pain stabbed through me so sharply I curled up, only able to let out a muffled sob.

That year, the auction house was selling a collection of Victorian jewelry. The centerpiece was a 19th century emerald necklace with an incredible provenance, supposedly tracing back to Italian nobility.

So many people wanted that necklace. Grayson spent nearly everything he had to win the bid. I told him he didn't need to spend that much money on it.

Later that night at the loft, he pulled the necklace from its velvet case and knelt on one knee.

"The woman who owned this told me something," he said, his voice breaking. "She said this necklace belonged to her great-grandmother, who wore it on her wedding day. She told me this necklace only belongs to true love."

I looked at his earnest face and tears suddenly welled up.

"So it belongs to you." He looked up at me with those blue-green eyes that still made my heart race. "This is all I have, and all I am. Will you marry me?"

I fell to my knees in front of him. "You're all I need. Not this stupid necklace."

He smiled. "Then you have both."

Later, I felt the necklace was too precious for daily wear at work, so I kept it in the safe at our secret hideaway.

I don't know how long I cried.

Eventually, I picked up the phone and wiped my face with the back of my hand. I'd been so stupid. Turns out I never even had his heart.

I dialed Marco, our family consigliere. He answered immediately.

"Mrs. Vitale?"

"I'm not only getting a divorce, but I've also decided to follow my father's plan."

A long silence. "Are you sure? I thought about this during the day, but you didn't mention it, so I didn't ask much. Why so suddenly? This plan is cruel to him. This means—"

"Execute it," I said.

I figured since he gave me all that love before, I didn't want his downfall to be too brutal. But now I've changed my mind.