Chapter 10 - The Last LaughThe sun was setting over the city skyline, casting long golden shadows across the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse apartment.
I stood by the glass holding a crystal flute of vintage champagne, watching the distant lights of the financial district flicker to life one by one. On the coffee table beside me sat a framed document—not a marriage certificate, but the newly minted corporate charter bearing my signature as sole managing director of the Whitmore Foundation.
My phone rang, breaking the evening silence. I glanced at the caller ID. It was an unlisted correctional facility number.
I let it ring three times, just as I had months ago, before slowly swiping the screen.
“Caroline?” Grant’s voice came through, thin, hollow, and utterly broken by the harsh reality of prison life. “Please… it’s visiting day tomorrow. Can you… would you at least consider—'
“Grant,” I interrupted, my voice calm, rhythmic, and absolute. “Do you remember what you whispered to me right after your mistress pushed me into that pool?”
Silence stretched across the line, heavy with the weight of memory.
“You told me not to make a scene,” I continued softly, swirling the golden liquid in my glass. “And you were right. Scenes are messy, emotional, and entirely unnecessary.”
“Caroline, please,” he choked out, a desperate sob catching in his throat. “I have nothing left.”
“I know,” I replied. “And neither do I. Because from this moment on, you don’t exist in my world at all.”
I tapped the red end call button, severed the connection permanently, and blocked the terminal routing for good.
May you like
Then I walked out onto the balcony, raised my glass toward the sprawling city lights below, and took a long, quiet sip of the champagne.
The water had been cold that night, but the air up here was magnificent.
