Chapter 2 Trouble in Paradise

October 2017

Tina's POV

I heard the sharp, angry footsteps of my mother-in-law marching down the corridor, each one echoing like a drumbeat of warning. A moment later came the jostle of a door slamming shut—my husband’s study.

I couldn’t hear the words, but I didn’t need to. I knew her well enough to imagine her fury unleashed on him, probably yelling about the way he had treated me. I had tried to keep the truth from her, but how could I when my business—our business—was all over the news for the world to see?

My phone lay face-up on the bed, the glowing screen still open to the article that had drained me of whatever strength I had left. A sigh rolled through me, heavy and broken, as I stared at the headline in bold black print.

"Trouble in Paradise"

Under it was a picture of me, frozen mid-sob, my face blotched and damp. That was their cover story: my humiliation. The camera had been merciless. My head warmer, carelessly shoved over my hair that morning, hid the soft waves that usually fell in long cascades. My grey eyes, normally clear and bright, looked swollen and red-rimmed. My mouth twisted in misery. They had caught me at my lowest, and the image told the world exactly what they wanted it to: that I was broken, pitiful, unloved.

I remembered the day that photograph must have been taken. I had gone to Simon’s office after failing to reach him at home, desperate for answers, desperate for him. I had left in tears, crushed by the only words he had bothered to give me—harsh, cold, unfeeling. That day, his voice had stripped me raw, and the camera had been there to devour what remained.

The headline mocked me. Paradise? There had never been a paradise to begin with. My marriage to Simon Valero was no haven, no safe place of warmth. It was a frozen wasteland, a desert of ice, and the only thing I ever knew from him was coldness.

I had thought many times about ending it, about freeing myself before the chill of his indifference seeped too deeply into me, freezing my soul past the point of melting. But every time, his mother begged me to stay.

And I always yielded.

I had a soft spot for Mrs. Alicia Valero. She had treated me like a daughter from the very first moment. Her love had been the brightest contrast to my own parents’ apathy, and I had clung to it. She was the reason I married Simon at all. Despite the loveless prison my life had become because of her wishes, I couldn’t bring myself to hate her.

She adored her son, wanted everything for him, believed the best of him—even when he gave me nothing. She had enticed me with her kindness, her promises that one day Simon would open his heart. And because I was starving for a family, for love, I had believed her.

A sharp sound tore me from my thoughts. A slap—loud and unmistakable—cracked from inside Simon’s study. I jolted upright, the fluffy feel of my blanket sliding away as I hurried to intervene.

My footsteps carried me down the hall, my mind racing ahead of me. Should I try to placate Alicia, calm her down before things escalated? Or should I use this moment, finally, to demand answers from Simon with his mother standing at my side?

My hand hovered on the door handle, trembling, seconds away from pushing it open. But then his voice cut through the air, words so cold, so final, that they froze me in place.

“You know what, Mother? Sarah is coming back in two days, and the moment she’s here I’m kicking Tina out of my life.”

The breath rushed out of me as if he had punched me. I clutched the handle, my knuckles whitening, unable to move.

“I know it’s the last thing you want to hear,” he added, unflinching, “but we decided to give our love a second chance.”

Something inside me shattered. I stumbled back, away from the door, away from the truth that had just branded itself into me. My heart felt like it had split clean in two, jagged edges tearing at my chest as tears welled fast and spilled down my cheeks.

To think he was capable of saying that. To think he wanted her. To think he would give another chance to the woman who had broken him, but not even a first chance to me.

The tears came hard, streaming in rivulets I couldn’t stop as I staggered back toward my room.

I had heard of Sarah before. His ex. The maids had whispered about the storm their relationship had been—the fights, the shouting, the chaos that had ended in ruin. And yet, he wanted her again. He wanted her enough to throw me away like nothing.

Something must be wrong with me, I thought bitterly, shoving clothes into my bag with shaking hands. Why her? Why not me? Why couldn’t he give me the chance to prove him wrong?

The wedding pictures on my bedside mocked me from the table, smiling versions of myself that looked like another woman altogether. I was beaming in those photographs. He was not. He looked stiff, detached, his eyes already elsewhere. With a sob, I slammed the frames face-down.

As the blur of tears thickened, I collapsed on my bed, pressing my face into the pillow to muffle the sound. Crying silently had been an art I had perfected in childhood. Loveless parents had taught me early that my tears were nothing but a nuisance, wasted salt water in a home where affection did not exist.

And now here I was again, tied to a man who was no different. Simon’s love was not for me. It had never been for me.

My body shook with sobs, my chest heaving, my shoulders quaking. For the first time, my anger turned toward Alicia. Toward the woman who had pulled me into this life, who had promised me her son would change, who had smiled with such warmth I couldn’t see the trap I was stepping into.

She should have left me alone. She should never have forced me into Simon’s life. She promised he would open up. She lied.

Bitterness burned hot and sharp. She had disrupted her son’s broken heart by shoving me into the frozen remains of it. And now I was left with nothing but shards.

I wiped my tears, my eyes swollen and sore. As always, crying changed nothing. All it left me with was a pounding headache and a raw throat.

“I need to take action,” I whispered aloud, as if saying it would give me strength.

So I called my lawyer. My voice shook as I requested the papers, but I did it. Then I packed.

I packed only what I had brought into this house, leaving behind the lavish gifts Alicia had given me, leaving behind everything bought with the black card Simon had pressed into my hand as if it excused his neglect.

My fingers slid to my ring, circling the slim band that symbolized nothing but coldness. For a moment, I hesitated, relishing the icy smoothness of the diamond. But then I pulled it off, my heart heavy, and set it on the table beside the fallen wedding photographs.

One photograph was missing—I had stuffed it into my bag in a moment of weakness. Call me foolish, call me pathetic, but part of me still loved him, even knowing he loved another. I couldn’t quite let go of the sham we had built together.

That night, I curled into a ball on top of my covers, my room still full, still furnished, but hollow to me now. I cried until sleep dragged me under. I knew the morning would bring a headache, but the tears would not stop.

Morning came with a hard edge. The divorce papers arrived, and with trembling hands I signed my name. A car engine growled outside, gravel crunching under the tires as Simon—my husband, no, my ex-husband—drove away.

Would he be shocked when he returned and found papers instead of me? Would he wear the cold mask from our wedding day? The same detached expression he had worn every day of our marriage? Or would he rejoice at my absence?

“It’s better this way,” I told myself. If I saw him, I would only break again.

I placed the signed papers on the bed and left a short note pinned to them, wishing him luck in his new love. My last act of dignity.

I gave my room one final look, my gaze lingering on the discarded wedding ring. My suitcase waited at the door. I reached for the handle, ready to step out of this house for good.

But the door burst open before I could move, and Simon stood there.

And for the first time in my life, I saw him not cold, not distant, but furious. He was fuming mad.