The Day I Stopped Being the Nice Wife - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Jane stood frozen outside the sleek office building, her stomach in knots. How had she wound up here? Abby would kill her if she found out, but she couldn't avoid this confrontation any longer—Marcus had been dodging her for weeks. She spun on her heel, muttering, "No, this is a bad idea—"
"Coming in or just admiring the architecture?" A sharply dressed woman brushed past, holding the door open with an expectant look. Jane gaped like a stranded fish before numbly following inside.
Her simple black dress suddenly felt like armor as they stepped into the elevator. "Thanks," Jane murmured, pressing herself against the back wall.
"What floor?" The woman's fingers hovered over the panel before narrowing her eyes. "Wait—who are you here to see?"
Jane flashed her wedding ring. "My husband."
The woman gave a distracted nod and returned to her phone. Jane exhaled—just a few more minutes and she'd finally get answers from Marcus.
"Forgot to ask his floor," the woman said breezily as the doors opened. "But you'll manage." The elevator swallowed her before Jane could respond.
The sprawling office maze threatened to overwhelm her, but determination steeled her spine. Today was the day.
"Need help?" A male employee eyed her curiously.
"Yes, I'm looking for my husband's office. Marcus Dreame?"
The man's jaw dropped. "You're Marcus's wife?"
"That way." He recovered quickly, leading her down the hall. Hope fluttered in Jane's chest—five minutes was all she needed.
Unaware of the storm approaching, Marcus smirked at the woman across his desk. "You want me to beg? Because I will."
"Enough games." She crossed her arms. "When is she signing the divorce papers?"
Jane's hand froze mid-knock at the familiar voice—Abigail? Her stomach lurched as Marcus's reply dripped with intimacy:
"Babe..."
No. This couldn't be happening.
"I'm done being your dirty secret," Abigail snapped. "Three years, Marcus! Why not just tell her?"
Jane's knees buckled. She clung to the doorframe as Marcus sighed. "I can't force her to sign."
"Bullshit. Now she's sobbing in my apartment thinking you'll reconcile."
The world tilted. Jane collapsed against the wall just as Abigail stormed out, Marcus chasing after her like some pathetic rom-com scene.
Three years. Three years of building his company from scratch, of swallowing his neglect, of defending him to her father—who'd warned her with heartbreaking clarity: "He doesn't love you."
She'd stolen family money for their wedding. Been disowned. And for what?
Her fingers trembled as they closed around the business card in her purse. The stranger from the bar. Caleb Lockwood.
He answered on the second ring. "Caleb Lockwood speak—"
"I want to meet. Now."
A pause. Then, hearing her ragged breath: "I'll send a car—"
"No." She cut him off, already striding toward the elevators. "I'm coming to you."
The doors slid shut on one certainty: Marcus and Abigail would pay. Every. Last. Drop.