Chapter 166
Laura's POV
The lawyer's office felt sterile and cold, nothing like the warm picture I'd once fantasized about building a life with Richard. Now we sat on opposite sides of a mahogany table, signing documents that would dissolve our marriage.
"The cooling-off period is mandatory," the attorney explained, sliding documents between us. "You have one month to reconsider before the divorce becomes final."
My pen moved mechanically across the page. I'd been quiet all morning, wearing a mask of resignation on my face. When I finished signing, I looked up at Richard, my eyes holding no anger—just exhaustion.
"I won't contest anything," I said quietly. "The house, Emma's custody arrangement, the financial settlement. I just want this to be... dignified."
He nodded, unable to find words. I had expected him to fight, to be angry. This calm acceptance was somehow worse than his anger.
"Richard," I started, but then shook my head. "Never mind."
Don't beg. Don't make this harder than it already is.
"One last dinner, I hope you won't refuse," I said calmly.
He just nodded mechanically.
I poured wine for Richard at the restaurant, watching the burgundy liquid sparkle in the candlelight. He accepted the glass without meeting my eyes, mechanically cutting his steak.
"The salmon is quite good," I offered, trying to fill the chasm-like silence between us.
He nodded absently. "Mm."
This might be our last dinner as husband and wife, I thought, and he can't even look at me.
The weight of this realization settled in my chest like a stone. Six years of marriage, ten years of love, ending with polite small talk about expensive fish.
After we left the restaurant, I insisted on accompanying him to the hospital for his dressing change. The nurse was efficient and professional, cleaning the wounds from his bar fight with practiced hands. I stood beside him, playing the role of the concerned wife, perhaps for the last time.
"The bruising is healing well," the nurse said. "Just keep it clean and dry."
As she worked, Richard's eyes found mine in the mirror. For a moment, something flickered there—perhaps regret, or just exhaustion. I wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, to remind him I was still here.
When we returned home, I busied myself in the kitchen, stocking his refrigerator with groceries I'd bought on the way. Fresh vegetables, his favorite cheese, the expensive coffee he liked. These small acts of care felt both necessary and desperate.
He retreated to his study, the glow of his laptop screen casting shadows across his face.
"I'm leaving now," I called from the doorway.
He didn't look up from his screen.
I lingered for a moment, memorizing him—the way his hair fell across his forehead when he concentrated, the line of his shoulders beneath his shirt. The man I'd loved since I was seventeen, slipping away from me one keystroke at a time.
"Take care of yourself," I said softly. "And Richard? Whatever happens with Harrison Group, whatever Grace does—I won't let anyone destroy you. Even if we're divorced, I won't let them win."
The typing stopped. For a long moment, the only sound was the tick of the clock in the hallway.
Then I heard it—a soft, bitter laugh that cut through me like glass.
I closed the door and walked to my car, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the keys. Tomorrow I was supposed to fly back to Aetheria, back to my parents. But tonight, I just wanted to get drunk.
---
Stella's POV
I watched Laura stumble through the bar entrance, her usually perfect composure completely shattered. There was something wild in her eyes that made my stomach clench with worry.
"Jesus, Laura," I breathed, standing up from our usual corner booth. "What happened to you?"
She collapsed into the seat across from me, immediately signaling the bartender for a double whiskey. "It's over, Stella. It's really over."
"The divorce?"
"Signed the papers today." Her laugh was bitter and hollow. "One month cooling-off period. As if one month could change anything."
I'd never seen Laura like this—completely unhinged, drinking like she was trying to drown something inside herself. Usually, she was so controlled, so calculated. This raw desperation was terrifying.
"Maybe you should slow down," I suggested as she downed her third whiskey in twenty minutes.
"Why?" she slurred, her eyes unfocused. "What's the point of being careful anymore? I've lost what matters. All because of that bitch Grace."
The venom in her voice when she said Grace's name made me shiver. I'd heard Laura complain about Grace before, but this was different. This was pure hatred.
"Laura, you're scaring me."
"You know what the worst part is?" She leaned forward, gripping her glass so tightly I thought it might shatter. "I gave him everything. Ten years of my life."
Then she started crying—ugly, broken sobs that shook her entire body. Other patrons were starting to stare, but Laura didn't seem to notice or care.
"I need to use the restroom," she mumbled, pushing herself up from the table. She swayed dangerously, and I reached out to steady her.
"I'll come with you."
"No," she snapped, jerking away from my touch. "I need to be alone."
Now I was sitting here, checking my watch every few seconds, my anxiety growing with each passing minute. When Laura drank, she made bad decisions. And tonight, she was drinking like the world was ending.
Women who bet their lives on love never win, I thought grimly, remembering my own disasters with men. But Laura had always been different—smarter, more strategic. Seeing her like this was like watching a building collapse in slow motion.
Laura's phone buzzed. A text message.
This is Russell Edwards, Laura's employer.
"Where are you?"
I stared at the message, surprised. Laura had mentioned her boss a few times.
I quickly typed back: She's at Meridian Bar downtown. She's been drinking heavily and won't come out of the bathroom. I think she needs help.
His response was immediate: I'm on my way. What's the exact location?
I sent the address, then knocked on the restroom door again. "Laura? That Russell is coming to get you. You need to come out."
Still nothing.
Twenty minutes later, I saw a tall, distinguished man scanning the bar. He had the kind of presence that commanded attention—silver hair, sharp suit, the bearing of someone used to being in charge.
"Mr. Edwards?" I called out, waving him over.
He approached with quick, purposeful strides. "Where is she?"
"Still in there." I nodded toward the restroom. "She's been in there for almost an hour now."
He knocked firmly on the door. "Laura? It's Russell. Open the door."
When she finally emerged, she was a complete mess. Her dress was stained, her hair disheveled, and she could barely stand upright. But when she saw Russell, something shifted in her expression—surprise, embarrassment, and something else I couldn't quite identify.
"Russell?" she mumbled, blinking at him in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"Taking you somewhere safe," he said gently, wrapping a steady arm around her waist.
I watched them leave, Russell supporting Laura's weight as she leaned heavily against him. In the parking lot, I could see him carefully settling her into his car, his movements protective and gentle.
Maybe, I thought, maybe Laura finally has someone who actually wants to take care of her.