Kill the Mistress, Not My Problem! - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Seven years of marriage had left me with neither too much nor too little. I hired someone to install a fire pit in the courtyard and burned everything I could. The jewelry and accessories that wouldn't catch flame, I sold.
I wanted nothing from this villa—no trace of me left behind. So I turned it all to ashes.
Ryan Carter returned just as I tossed our wedding photo into the fire. I was surprised—I hadn't seen him in over a month. For all I knew, he could've dropped dead somewhere.
Through the smoke, his gaze was ice, staring at me like I was already a corpse. He carried an urn in his arms, brushing past me without a word.
If not for the butler's quick reflexes, I might've lost my face. A chill shot up from my feet—Ryan Carter had lost his mind. This was his way of punishing me.
He clicked his tongue, sounding almost disappointed. "Clean it up." Then he turned and walked upstairs.
Something inside me snapped.
I'd endured his mistress. I'd endured his threats against my family. I'd endured Emma's taunts. I'd endured him getting me drunk and forcing me to conceive.
Endure, endure, endure. Three years of swallowing it all. Now he was openly trying to kill me? No more. If this was how it had to be, then we'd all go down together.
I caught up to him in three strides, grabbed his arm, and yanked him around. With everything I had, I slapped him—hard. His head whipped to the side, and when his eyes met mine again, they were frigid.
Seeing the red mark on his face gave me a twisted satisfaction. "Nine tomorrow morning. We're getting a divorce."
Emma White's death wasn't my fault. "Stop blaming me for everything. You know how I got pregnant. I didn't skip the divorce hearing—your mother dragged me back to the old mansion."
"Your mistress was buried on your mom's orders because she couldn't stand watching you self-destruct. So don't pin that on your father."
Ryan didn't react. Whether he believed me or not didn't matter anymore. I'd said my piece.
As I walked out of the Carter estate, I remembered the question he'd asked me earlier:
"Have you ever lost someone you loved?"
Someone I loved? Ha. What had I said? Oh, right. "Ryan Carter, you died to me a long time ago."
When two people are in love, they see no one else. Once, I couldn't see Emma White. Now, Ryan couldn't see me.
"After all this time, are you really willing to let go?"
Patrick—the mutual friend who'd been stuck in this three-year-long mess, the one who'd fed me updates about Emma—was the one asking.
Willing to let go? Seven years of love and hate. I'd once dreamed of him coming back to me. But when Emma died, I understood: being chosen by either side meant losing.
I exhaled a thin stream of smoke, flicking ash from my cigarette. Since learning about Emma, smoking had become my escape. I didn't drink—too afraid of what I might do—so this was my only relief, my way of numbing the ache.
When I didn't answer, he pressed on. "Emma's gone. You've put up with it for three years—why not wait a little longer? He'll come back to you eventually."
"Besides, you have a child. Even if Andrew agrees, the Carters won't."
"I don't need their permission."
I hadn't told anyone about the abortion. Frustrated, Patrick snapped, "Are you insane? What if Emma isn't even dead?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
After a long silence, he finally told me the truth.