Chapter 9 Chapter 9
Chapter 9
SELENE
"Legally, maybe," the man said. "But practically? Everything connected to Derek Sterling is untouchable. I'm truly sorry."
I left the shop in a daze, the afternoon sun too bright after the dim interior. I stood on the sidewalk, surrounded by shopping bags full of expensive uselessness, and finally understood the full extent of my imprisonment.
Derek's wealth and power didn't just give him influence—it gave him control. Control over what I owned, control over what I could sell, control over my ability to leave. The luxury items that should have been my assets were actually liabilities, too recognizable, too traceable, too connected to his name.
I couldn't sell them. I couldn't convert them to cash. I couldn't use them to build my escape.
I was trapped.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. I leaned against my car, trying to breathe through the panic rising in my chest. What was I going to do? How could I leave when I had no money, no resources, no way to support myself and my baby?
Maybe I couldn't leave. Maybe this was my reality—stay married to Derek, raise our child in this cold, loveless house, watch him pine for Jasmine while I pretended not to notice. Maybe some cages were impossible to escape.
"No," I whispered fiercely. "No, there has to be a way."
But standing there on that unfamiliar street, surrounded by the symbols of my gilded imprisonment, I couldn't see it. All I could see was the impossibility of my situation, the carefully constructed prison Derek's wealth had built around me.
I drove home slowly, my mind numb. The bags of jewelry and handbags sat in my passenger seat, mocking me with their uselessness. I'd been so naive to think it would be simple, that I could just sell a few items and have enough money to start over.
Nothing about my life was simple anymore.
Back at the house, I carried everything upstairs and carefully returned each item to its place in my closet. The emerald earrings back in their box. The Chanel bag back on its shelf. The tennis bracelet back in its drawer. Erasing all evidence of my failed attempt at independence.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I looked the same as always—well-dressed, well-groomed, perfectly put together. Mrs. Derek Sterling, the ideal wife.
But inside, I was breaking apart.
My phone buzzed—a text from Derek's assistant. Mrs. Sterling, I've scheduled your dress fitting for the gala tomorrow at 2 PM at Maison Laurent. Please let me know if this time doesn't work for you.
The gala. Of course. In all my panic and planning, I'd almost forgotten about the upcoming performance I'd have to give. Stand beside Derek, smile for the cameras, pretend our marriage was everything it should be while Jasmine watched from across the room.
I typed back: That works perfectly. Thank you.
Another text came through, this time from Sarah. Still on for tonight? I have ice cream and your favorite wine. Well, sparkling cider for you since I know you've been feeling queasy.
I'd forgotten about that too. In my desperation to escape, I'd lost track of the normal rhythms of life—friends, plans, the small comforts that made existence bearable.
Yes, please. I need it, I replied.
7 PM. And Selene? Whatever's going on, we'll figure it out together. I promise.
Her words made tears spring to my eyes. At least I had Sarah. At least someone in this world cared about me, wanted to help me, saw me as more than an obligation or a burden.
I spent the rest of the afternoon researching prenuptial agreements, trying to understand what rights I had, what provisions existed for divorce. But the legal language was dense and confusing, full of clauses and subclauses that seemed designed to obscure rather than clarify.
I'd need a lawyer. A good one, someone who could navigate the complexities of divorcing a man as wealthy and powerful as Derek. But hiring a lawyer required money, and money was exactly what I didn't have.
The circular nature of my problem made me want to scream.
By the time Sarah arrived that evening, I was emotionally exhausted. She took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug.
"That bad?" she asked.
"Worse," I said against her shoulder. "I don't know what to do, Sarah. I feel so stuck."
We settled on the couch with ice cream and sparkling cider, and I told her everything—about trying to sell my things, about the pawn shops' rejections, about the impossible trap Derek's wealth had created.
Sarah listened without interrupting, her expression growing more troubled with each detail. When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"What about Rosalie?" she finally asked. "She cares about you. She promised your parents she'd look after you. Maybe she could help?"
I shook my head. "She arranged this marriage. She thinks Derek and I are perfect together. If I tell her I want to leave, it would break her heart. And she'd probably try to convince me to stay, to work things out, to give it more time."
"Then what about a job?" Sarah suggested. "You could start building your own income, your own savings."
"With what qualifications? I've been out of the workforce for two years. And any job I got, Derek would know about it. He monitors everything."
Sarah's jaw tightened. "This is financial abuse, Selene. You know that, right? He's deliberately kept you dependent on him."
Hearing it stated so bluntly made something click into place. She was right. Whether Derek had done it intentionally or not, the result was the same—I was completely reliant on him for survival. And that dependence was a chain as strong as any lock.
"I don't know what to do," I admitted, my voice small. "I feel so powerless."
Sarah squeezed my hand. "We'll think of something. There has to be a way."
But as the evening wore on, as we brainstormed and discarded idea after idea, I felt my hope dwindling. Every solution we came up with ran into the same wall—Derek's money, Derek's power, Derek's control over every aspect of my life.
When Sarah finally left around eleven, hugging me tightly and making me promise to call if I needed anything, I felt more alone than ever. The house was dark and quiet, Derek still not home. Still with Jasmine, probably, or actually working. It didn't really matter anymore.
I climbed the stairs to our bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Tomorrow I had the dress fitting. Then the gala. Then more days and weeks and months of this half-life, this shadow existence.
Unless I could find a way out.