Chapter 7 - THE CRUMBLING EMPIRE
Luca stood frozen, the phone still pressed against his ear, listening to the hollow dial tone echoing in the quiet kitchen. The reality of his absolute, total ruin finally crashed down upon him. He had lost his wife, his children, his career, his inheritance, and his mistress within the span of a single month. All his arrogance, all his late-night plotting, all his smug little speeches about how smart he was—reduced to ash in an instant.
“She hung up,” Luca whispered, staring blankly at the screen. “She actually hung up.”
“What did you expect?” I asked, leaning against the counter and folding my arms. “You built your entire future on sand, Luca. You thought you were the smartest person in every room, but you were just a placeholder waiting for a inheritance you didn’t earn.”
Luca slowly lowered his phone, his eyes welling up with pathetic, self-pitying tears. He looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time in months. Not as a convenient wife who managed his household, not as an obstacle to his ambitions, but as the woman holding the keys to his entire existence.
“Jessi… please,” he choked out, his knees buckling slightly as he reached out a trembling hand. “We’ve been together for sixteen years. We have a family. Help me fix this. Talk to Arthur. I’m your husband.”
“My husband died the night I heard that voice note, Luca,” I said, stepping back so his hand met empty air. “The man standing in my kitchen is just a stranger who outlived his welcome.”
May you like
I walked over to the hallway closet, pulled out a large, battered Samsonite suitcase that had belonged to him, and tossed it right onto the kitchen floor. It landed with a heavy, final thud.
“You have until sunrise to pack your things and get out of my house,” I told him, my voice as cold and hard as steel. “If you aren’t gone by six a.m., I’ll have the local sheriff escort you off the property for trespassing.”
