Chapter 2
Charlotte's POV:
Mason felt like a stranger to me now—and a shameless one at that. How could he stand there and say those things after abandoning me in the middle of nowhere last night?
He hadn't even glanced at the contents of the document he signed. Wasn't he afraid I'd taken advantage of him?
I shoved him away. "I'm not in the mood."
"Jealous?" A slow, hungry smile spread across his face. "Don't worry, baby. I'll make it worth your while."
That look used to make my knees weak. Now it just turned my stomach.
When he reached out to pull me close, I slapped his hand away. "You disgust me."
The warmth drained from his face. "Charlotte. Jealousy has its limits. What happened yesterday was an accident—I didn't mean to leave you behind. You need to understand that."
"I need to understand? Then who's going to understand me?"
Something snapped inside me.
"You left me alone in the middle of nowhere—for another woman! Mason, I'm your wife. Weren't you even worried that something could have happened to me—"
"Enough!" He cut me off, his voice sharp with irritation. "Qiana is family. I wasn't going to just ignore her. And nothing happened to you, so your little 'what ifs' are ridiculous."
Ridiculous. Right.
The most ridiculous part was me.
The fight drained out of me all at once. I closed my eyes, and when I spoke again, my voice was flat and cold. "Then let's get a divorce. That way you can marry Qiana and take care of her out in the open."
"Divorce?" His expression went glacial. "Don't even think about it."
He looked at me the way other men looked at women they adored—except now those eyes were full of ice. "You will be my wife for the rest of your life."
He slammed the door on his way out.
On any other day, I would have chased after him in tears, begging him to come back.
This time, I sat down on the sofa and stayed there.
Not exactly calm—the tears still came.
Three years. You can't just switch off three years in a single night.
But last night's one hour of breakdown had made one thing clear: a clean break now was better than a slow bleed forever.
I dried my eyes, took a photo of the divorce agreement, and sent it to my lawyer friend.
The reply came quickly. [It takes effect in one month—but he can void it at any time if he changes his mind. And honestly? Almost no one in this industry is willing to go up against the Scott family in court. If you want out, be ready for a long fight.]
I needed backup.
I texted Mason's mother, Kenna.
[I'm willing to agree to the divorce. I want one hundred million in compensation.]
Mason refused to let me go. But his mother? She'd been trying to get rid of me for years—waiting to replace me with some well-connected socialite she actually approved of.
A woman with no family background and a gambling addict for a mother had no business being her daughter-in-law. She'd never let me forget that.
I tucked the divorce agreement into my suitcase and started packing.
I had to be gone before Qiana moved in.
At ten o'clock that night, after dropping off a load of boxes at my old apartment, Mason's assistant called.
"Mrs. Scott."
Jack's voice. Behind him, I could hear the loud, rowdy noise of a bar. "Mr. Scott had too much to drink. Can you come get him? I'll send you the address."
I pressed my fingers to my temple. "I can send my own assist—"
"Mrs. Scott, he's been calling your name since he went under. Just get here. Address is on its way."
The line went dead.
I stared at the pin on my screen for a long moment.
Then I went.
It wasn't fair to drag my assistant out at this hour.
But when I reached the private room, I stopped just outside the door.
Jack's voice drifted through, easy and laughing.
"You think Charlotte's actually going to show?"
"Are you kidding? She's like his personal on-call service. Whenever, wherever."
"Three years and she's still completely wrapped around his finger. Whatever he wants, she does."
"Even though she's never once been his first priority."
The laughter continued.
Each word landed like a needle between my ribs.
And then I saw Mason through the gap in the door—sitting there, relaxed, expression perfectly composed.
Not drunk. Not even close.
He didn't say a word to stop them.
This probably wasn't the first time.
I let go of the door handle.
I closed my eyes.
Then I turned around and walked away.
Why would I go in there? To humiliate myself?
Back home, I opened my laptop and pulled up the company's HR system.
I started typing my resignation letter.
I'd hand off my projects tomorrow. It would be simple—ever since Owen's accident, I'd been quietly pushed to the margins. When new leadership came in, they brought their own people. Most of my colleagues had long since decided I'd only gotten where I was through connections.
Leaving would make no waves.
I had just submitted the letter when headlights swept across the window, followed by the doorbell.
I opened the door to find Jack holding up a very drunk Mason. "Mrs. Scott—"
"Take him upstairs." I stepped aside without offering a hand.
I felt Jack's surprise, but my expression didn't change.
Whenever Mason had needed me before, I'd always been there—I'd rarely asked Jack to step in. Meanwhile, Mason had sent Jack to pick me up and drop me off more times than I could count, always with the same excuse: he was too tied up with Qiana.
Maybe I should have just let Jack drive him somewhere else tonight. Given them both a convenient excuse.
I pushed the thought away.
Jack left. I went to the bedroom to grab my pajamas.
And heard Mason's voice, low and slurred from the bed.
"Qiana… Qiana…"
I almost laughed.
My husband was drunk and dreaming of someone else—yet he'd married me, and he refused to let me go.
Was I just the cover story for their forbidden love?
There was nothing left here worth holding on to.
The next morning, I was at the office before he woke up.
The handoff was as quiet as I'd expected. Since Owen's accident, I'd slowly been edged out; under new leadership, I'd become invisible. No one would miss me.
I was almost done when Qiana appeared in front of me, all practiced charm. "Charlotte, would you mind dropping off a gift at the Windsor Group? You wouldn't say no, would you?"
I had no patience left for her. "No."
"Qiana." Mason's voice came from behind me. "I thought you weren't feeling well. What are you doing here?"
She smiled. "Business comes first. The Windsor Group partnership is important for where the company's headed. I just can't get away right now, and this gift…" She trailed off with an apologetic glance in my direction.
Mason didn't hesitate. "Charlotte can go. It's not like she has anything else to do around here."
Right. Because if it weren't for the work Owen and I had put in years ago, he wouldn't even have a 'here' to stand in.
Before I could say a word, Qiana held the gift out toward me.
I hadn't even reached for it when she let go.
It hit the floor with a dull thud.
Then came her voice—startled, wounded, perfectly performed.
"Charlotte, if you didn't want to do it, you could have just said so. Why did you have to throw it?"
