Chapter 4
At ten o'clock that night, Chloe guided a thoroughly intoxicated Owen into his mansion.
"Get me some chicken soup," he demanded, collapsing onto the leather sectional with his eyes shut tight, irritation radiating from every pore.
In the past, whenever business deals required drinking, his wife Avery would have homemade chicken soup waiting for him—the perfect remedy for his sensitive stomach. But tonight, it was Chloe who instructed the housekeeper to bring it, then tentatively held the spoon to his lips.
"Careful," she murmured.
Owen took one sip with his eyes still closed and immediately spat it out.
"Why does this taste like garbage?" he growled, his voice slurred but his disgust unmistakable.
Even in his alcohol-fogged state, his body rejected it instinctively. Avery's homemade soup was always rich and savory, the flavors perfectly balanced. This watery concoction barely qualified as soup.
"Avery, what's wrong with you today?" he mumbled, addressing the wrong woman.
"I'm not Avery." Chloe's smile faltered, her expression darkening.
She'd scalded her fingers preparing that damn soup, and here he was comparing her to his wife. The wife he couldn't stop thinking about even when drunk.
The housekeeper cleared his throat awkwardly. "Mr. Walker, Mrs. Walker is no longer here."
He produced an envelope from his jacket pocket. "She asked me to give you this when she left."
Earlier that afternoon, he'd been confused by Avery's sudden packing. In his eyes, despite Owen's frequent mood swings, Avery had always chosen forgiveness. Now, witnessing the intimacy between Owen and Chloe, everything made terrible sense.
"Divorce?" Owen scoffed. "What game is she playing now?"
He forced his eyes open and downed a glass of ice water, trying to shock his system back to sobriety.
"When did Avery leave?"
The housekeeper lowered his gaze. "This afternoon, sir. She came back and took her belongings."
Owen's expression froze, the alcohol haze lifting from his brain like morning fog.
"That's impossible."
His eyes darted to the staircase, disbelief etched across his features.
Avery left? No way. She couldn't survive without him.
Owen snatched the document from the table. Divorce papers. His expression hardened to ice as he stormed upstairs to verify for himself.
In their bedroom, Avery's possessions had indeed vanished—her side of the closet half-empty, her perfumes and lotions cleared from the vanity.
"So she finally grew a backbone," he muttered, fingers clenching the divorce papers until they crumpled.
"Don't be angry, Owen," Chloe purred, following him into the bedroom. "Avery's just throwing a tantrum."
While appearing sympathetic, her eyes gleamed with triumph as she gazed at the empty spaces in the closet, already imagining her own clothes filling the void.
"What game is she playing?" Owen growled, turning to the housekeeper with fury etched across his face. "Tell her if she wants to come crawling back, she better be at my office tomorrow begging for forgiveness!"
Two years ago, after discovering Avery's journal where she'd written that she considered him beneath her, he'd systematically punished her—frequenting bars and flaunting his relationship with Chloe, whom Avery despised. Yet through it all, Avery had never threatened to leave.
Until now. Using divorce as leverage? Dream on, sweetheart.
"Yes, sir," the housekeeper replied hesitantly.
Something in his gut told him Mrs. Walker wouldn't be returning, but Owen's glacial expression stopped him from voicing that thought.
Meanwhile, Chloe slipped seamlessly into her nurturing persona. "She's just upset about what happened at the club. Give her space to cool down."
Owen hadn't agreed to the divorce—that was the important part. She just needed to keep driving them apart, like she always had.
"By the way," she quickly changed subjects, "I heard Matteo Ferrari is back in town. He's hosting a gala at Serene Manor tomorrow night. His company has this incredible new project everyone's fighting to collaborate on."
Her eyes widened with manufactured excitement. "You should attend, Owen. With your talent, Matteo would definitely prioritize you for partnership!"
Owen nodded. "We'll go together tomorrow."
"Perfect." Chloe's smile couldn't have been brighter.
The following evening at Serene Manor:
"Darling, these statement pieces were always more your style!" Lila hooked her arm through Avery's, admiring her friend's transformation. "I swear, since your wedding, you've been wearing those boring conservative dresses Owen preferred. That wasn't the real you."
"You're right," Avery replied, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "I'm done molding myself to fit someone else's preferences. Then or now."
She wore a crimson backless gown that hugged her curves before flaring dramatically at the knees. Her stilettos caught the light with each step, their crystal accents twinkling like stars.
Owen had always preferred her hair straight and tamed. Tonight, it cascaded down her back in wild, voluminous waves that made her look like a siren emerged from the depths.
The moment Avery entered the ballroom, conversations halted and heads turned.
"Who is that?" someone whispered.
"Is she from one of the old-money families? She's breathtaking," another guest murmured.
Lila couldn't hide her smugness. "Everyone's staring at you!"
She leaned closer, whispering, "Check out your options—there are some serious ten-out-of-tens here tonight."
Avery playfully pushed her away. "I'm not interested, but don't let me stop you from hunting."
"Oh, I won't." Lila winked shamelessly. "But I'll send any particularly gorgeous specimens your way."
After Lila bounced off to mingle, Avery checked the time. Still early, and Matteo hadn't arrived yet.
She wandered to the gallery where the Ferrari family was exhibiting their latest fashion designs. She was admiring a particularly exquisite piece when an unwelcome voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Well hello, beautiful." A short, weasel-faced man inserted himself directly into her path. "I'm Thomas Dunlop, but you can call me Thomas. Care for a drink?"
Avery stepped back, giving him a slow, deliberate once-over.
"Sorry, I'm not interested in unattractive men," she said coolly.
Thomas's smile froze, then crumbled into an ugly sneer.
"What did you just say to me, you bitch? Say it again, I dare you."
Avery tilted her head, studying him like a mildly interesting museum exhibit. "Your hearing seems as deficient as your looks. I said you're too ugly. Please get out of my way."
"You little slut!" Thomas snarled. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
Their confrontation was drawing attention, prompting whispers throughout the gallery.
"That woman is in serious trouble."
"Rejecting Thomas Dunlop? Is she insane?"
"He's the youngest Dunlop heir—and he's notorious for his temper."
The commotion caught the attention of Owen, who had just entered with Chloe on his arm. He froze mid-step, his eyes locked on the scene unfolding across the room.
Was that Avery? The woman in the red dress was simultaneously familiar and foreign to him.
Her features had always been striking, perfectly suited for bold fashion choices, but Owen preferred demure women. More importantly, he hated when other men noticed her. After their wedding, Avery had never again worn red—his least favorite color.
Yet tonight, her radiance was impossible to ignore, drawing every eye in the room.
"What a coincidence," Chloe remarked with feigned surprise. "Isn't that Avery? And who's that man she's arguing with? Thomas Dunlop?"
Her voice dropped to a concerned whisper. "Avery's temper will be her downfall. The Dunlops practically own the fashion industry—making an enemy of Thomas is like declaring war on the entire family."
She paused, adding innocently, "You don't think she's trying to attract his attention, do you?"
Owen let out a humorless laugh. "Thomas isn't that easily manipulated."
Despite his words, his body tensed as he watched Avery being cornered. Divorce papers or not, she was still legally his wife.
"If something happens to her, it reflects on me," he said coldly.
He moved to intervene, but Chloe caught his arm. "Matteo will arrive any minute. We can't afford to miss him."
Meanwhile, Thomas had escalated from verbal to physical intimidation.
"I'll teach you some respect, you little—"
He didn't finish his threat. As his fist rose, Avery's leg shot out in a perfectly executed kick that sent him sprawling across the marble floor.
"My leg!" Thomas howled, clutching his shin and writhing in pain.
Avery bent slightly, her voice carrying just far enough for nearby guests to hear: "I believe you've learned your lesson, Mr. Dunlop. Never underestimate a woman."
The onlookers stared in shock.
Owen stood paralyzed.
Was this really the same Avery who'd been his quiet, compliant wife for three years?
This woman was dangerous, commanding, and undeniably magnetic.
And for the first time in years, Owen couldn't look away.