Chapter 6 The near-death experience
Adeline rubbed at her arms as she drove, the fancy party dress sticking to her like a bad memory. It had been a long night and day, full of shouts, slaps from her father and Beatrice, and that raw, electric pull toward Julian that still vibrated under her skin.
She wanted nothing more than to head straight to his house, strip everything off, and lose herself in whatever storm they were starting, but the dress scratched and pulled with every move, and the idea of arriving looking like yesterday's mess stopped her. She needed fresh clothes, a quick pack of basics, and a moment to steady herself before diving deeper into this new chaos.
The road twisted toward the mansion she had shared with Patrick for years. Jonathan had signed it over as a wedding present, all smiles and handshakes back then, but now it hit her hard that her father would likely let Patrick keep it.
The cheating husband gets the multi-million-dollar house, the cars, and the easy life, while the wife who dared to fight back gets nothing. It burned in her chest, that old unfairness her father lived by, which was that men mess up and get forgiven, while women stand tall and get punished.
She pulled up close to the entrance, turned off the engine, and sat there a minute with her hands on the wheel and her breathing slow. Patrick was probably inside, pacing or sulking, ready to twist everything around. He was good at that, making his mistakes sound like her fault. She wasn't scared of him, not really, but the thought of his whiny voice dragging this out made her tired.
Finally, she got out. The front door opened right away, and one of the maids, Elena, stood there with a polite nod. The staff always sensed trouble, so they never failed to keep their heads down and moved quietly.
"Is Patrick home?" she asked, her voice low.
Elena glanced toward the back of the house. "Yes, ma'am. He's in the study."
Adeline nodded once and headed in, climbing the stairs without a sound. The house smelled faintly of lemon and fresh flowers from the vase, things the staff kept perfect even when everything else fell apart. She and Patrick had stopped sharing a bedroom long ago. They had separate spaces and separate routines, and it felt like a small mercy now.
Her room was down the east hallway, big and bright with windows overlooking the gardens. She slipped inside, locked the door, and leaned against it for a second. The bed was made neat, pillows fluffed, like nothing bad had ever happened here. She kicked off her heels, let them thud on the carpet, and unzipped the dress. It pooled at her feet like shed skin, and once the cool air hit her body, she sighed in relief.
Then she proceeded to pick out simple clothes from the drawer, starting with soft jeans that fit just right, a loose gray sweater, and comfortable sneakers. She felt human again, less like the woman from last night's headlines. In the bathroom mirror, she checked the damage, her cheek still swollen from the slaps earlier. She splashed water on her face, ran a brush through her tangled hair, and felt a little steadier.
Then came the suitcase, a medium one from the closet shelf. She packed fast but carefully, taking a week's worth of underwear and bras, toiletries in a zip bag, a couple of blouses and pants for work, her laptop and charger, and favorite jewelry in a small pouch. There was nothing of importance to take anyways since this house had never felt like home and was just a pretty cage.
She zipped it shut, rolled it to the door, and paused. She took one last look around, at the walk-in closet full of dresses she'd never wear again and the vanity with perfumes Patrick had bought to say sorry for small things. It all felt distant now, like someone else's life.
With a sigh, she unlocked the door to step out, but there he was.
Patrick leaned against the wall across the hall with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore jeans and a plain shirt, his hair was neat, but his eyes were dark and mean. They dropped to the suitcase, then back to her face.
"Running away?" he asked. His tone was light, almost joking, but it carried an edge.
Adeline tightened her grip on the handle. "Moving on."
He straightened, blocking the way to the stairs. "We should talk first."
"No need."
He gave a small laugh, stepping closer. "You think last night changes nothing? You humiliated me, Adeline, in front of everyone. Announcing a divorce, kissing that Hale guy like you're in some trashy movie, and now you pack a bag and sneak out?"
She tried to move past him. "Let me go, Patrick."
His hand shot out, grabbing her elbow hard, and he yanked, spinning her around. The suitcase slipped from her fingers and banged down, and she stumbled, her knee hitting the floor runner with a sharp jolt of pain.
Patrick stood over her, his face red. "You're not walking out like this, not after what you did."
Adeline pushed up on her hands, her knee throbbing. She glared at him. "What I did? You mean catching you with Mara? In a bathroom, at my own party?"
He snorted. "That's different. Guys slip up sometimes. You know, with stress and drinks, but it's not a big deal. You could've kept it quiet, gone through the night like a good wife, and fixed things at home. Instead, you made me look like an idiot."
She stood slowly, brushing off her jeans. "You made yourself look like an idiot."
His eyes narrowed. "You're fixing this, Adeline. Call off the divorce, and then tell the press you were mad, hormonal, or whatever. Apologize to me out loud, where people hear, and then maybe we start over."
Adeline stared, almost laughing at how clueless he sounded. "You think I'll beg? After everything?"
Something snapped in him. His hands came up fast, wrapping around her throat, and he pushed her back against the wall, his fingers digging in. Her feet scraped the floor as he lifted a bit, and immediately her air stopped, and her lungs screamed.
She scratched at his arms, her nails leaving red lines, but he squeezed tighter, and her vision blurred at the edges as black spots danced behind her eyes.
Pure survival kicked in, and she jerked her knee up hard, kicking right between his legs.
Patrick gasped, a deep, broken sound, and let go. He folded forward, his hands dropping to protect himself, and his face going white with pain.
Adeline slid down the wall, coughing, and sucking in air that burned her raw throat. She stayed on the floor a moment, her head spinning and chest heaving. Each breath hurt, but it came, and slowly, the hallway became again.
She looked up. Patrick hunched nearby, his breathing rough and his eyes watering.
"You... you'll regret that," he muttered through clenched teeth.
Adeline stood on shaky legs and grabbed the suitcase handle. Her voice came out scratchy but strong. "Touch me again, Patrick, and I’ll have you killed. I swear it."