“Claudine, you’ve always been so dominant. But we’re husband and wife, not just strategic partners. Can’t you, for once, put work aside and be like other wives, rely on me, trust me and maybe even obey me a little?”
Then, as if delivering a judgment, he added, “After dealing with Stephanie’s matter, I’ll go back to the Collins Family manor for the night. We both need some time to calm down.”
Oh, how convenient, a retreat masked as resolution. So that was his way of showcasing his masculine charm to other women.
It was laughable, really.
It was the same man who once claimed to admire my sharp, decisive nature, praising my independence as if it were his greatest treasure.
But then, he was tired of it. Bored, even.
And instead of owning up to his own failings, he cloaked them in noble excuses and shifted the blame squarely onto me. As if I were the problem all along.
I got out of the car tactfully and watched the black Maybach drive out of my sight.
I gave him a chance, but he did not know how to cherish it.
I picked up my phone and called my best friend.
“Claire, help me draft a divorce agreement,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside me.