Chapter 2

The silence in the room was heavy, thick enough that a knife could be cut through it. Ronald's jaws clenched as his voice tore through the silent air, sharp and venomous.

"I don't give a damn about whatever you've planned, Amelia," he swore, his eyes narrowing as he clenched the divorce papers in his hand. "We're getting divorced." And with that, he turned away-a dismissal as cold as the shut door.

"Ronald…" Amelia's voice trembled, barely audible in the silent night. She took a further step closer, her outstretched hand a pitiful gesture, as if to catch fragments of a world that had blown into pieces. He turned back, slowly, his expression unreadable.

"What now, Amelia? Ready to sign on the dotted line, or are we going to continue to drag this out?" His eyes, once full of warmth, were now splintered like shards of broken glass cutting through her hope.

Amelia's knees buckled, and before she could think, she had fallen to her knees before him, reaching out to touch him, to pull him back from the edge. But Ronald recoiled, his hand shooting up to block her.

Don't touch me!" he snarled in a low, dangerous voice. "You've lost that right, Amelia. Just sign the damn papers and leave." His fingers curled tightly into his fists, the anger rippling like a living thing under his skin.

Her voice quivered to a whisper, "Are you cheating on me, Ronald?" And there it was, between them, in the air, feeble and desperate, almost begging for hope. Her voice crackled with her heart stuttering and her pulse drumming dread.

Ronald said nothing. He didn't have to. His silence was loud, tearing through the moment with a loudness no admission to his guilt could ever scream. There was not another word from him as he snatched up the car keys and stormed out, leaving the echo of his footsteps and the sound of the door slamming shut.

The house was colder, emptier. Amelia sat in silence as her heart splintered in her chest. She stared at the spot where Ronald had stood at just that moment, her mind racing and searching in the dead silence wrapping itself around her like a shroud.

---

Amelia spoke later without her voice carrying weight:.

"Hello? Who's this?"

"Yes, this is the secretary of Rendezvous Hotel," a voice chimed, businesslike and detached. "We'd like to place an order for a painting."

Amelia blinked, thrown for a moment. "A painting? Yes. uh, sure. I'll need a little time; I am at home.

“Please hasten," it said, and the line was dead.

She sighed; her mind was still in a mess from Ronald's sudden departure, but work was a fine distraction. Amelia went to her office, but her thoughts just would not settle.

---

Amelia grasped the painting tightly as she approached the Rendezvous Hotel and held it out to the receptionist. Her eyes meandered to the parking area, and her breathing hitched. There it was, unmistakable in the sharp sunlight, Ronald's car.

A pit formed in her stomach as she forced a smile at the receptionist. "My husband, Ronald Wellington. He booked a room here. Could you tell me which one?"

The receptionist fumbled, her fingers poised above the keyboard. "Does your husband know you're coming?"

Amelia's smile shook. "Yes," she lied.

"Room 122. Third floor."

Amelia's legs felt like lead as she approached the room. Her heart pounding a little louder with every step, she shook uncontrollably as she pushed the door open without knocking. Beyond the threshold, the scene stole her breath.

"Non. No, no, no!" The words tore from her throat raw and animalistic. There, entangled with the sheets, lay her husband. And her sister.

"A-Amelia…," Ronald stuttered, struggling upright as the color left his face.

"Amelia," Catherine whispered, heavy with guilt.

Amelia's world spun, the betrayal slicing through her like a blade. Her voice shook as she went forward. "What. What the hell is this? You—" Her scream tore through the room as she slapped Ronald hard across his face, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

"You dare!" she hissed, her voice creaking from all the rage. "How long? How long have you been sleeping with my sister?"

Ronald opened his mouth, trying to say something, but nothing came out. He felt the silence choke him with its heavy weight.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, still lying in the bed, a weak "Amelia, s'il vous plaît…

"You dare not!" Amelia threw herself upon her, dragging Catherine by the hair and hauling her off the bed. "You-you witch!" she shrieked, shaking her sister roughly. "Anyone in the world could have been yours, and you had to take my husband?"

"Amelia, stop it!" Ronald's voice boomed, his hands reaching out to grab hold of Catherine, wrenching her from Amelia's grasp. His hand came down hard against Amelia's cheek, the sting of the slap sending her reeling.

Amelia kept gasping, one hand flying to her face, for her cheek was burning from the impact. Amelia looked up into Ronald, who was her husband-a man that she had loved-and found nothing but a stranger looking at her from cold, hard eyes. "You hit me." she whispered in disbelief and raw hurt.

Ronald did not budge an inch. "You don't know when to stop, do you?" His voice oozed so much malice as he drew Catherine even closer, the protective circle of his arm tight around her. "If you ever lay a finger on her again, I will make sure you regret it." The words hit Amelia like a tidal wave into the pit of her lungs. In that place, the man that had been was gone. In his stead was this cruel man, unrecognizable.

Her heart shattered, but at the back of her mind, something much darker stirred: vengeance. - Amelia stumbled out of the room, her mind reeling. She barely made it to her car before the tears fell hot and angry.

Every part of her ached, not just from Ronald's betrayal but from the raw, physical sting of his slap. She sat there, numb, the cold leather seat pressing into her back.

She slowly reached for her phone and dialed as her hands still quivered. "Hello, is this the police? I'd like to make a report. Ronald Wellington, CEO of RW Group. He's involved in drug activity at the Rendezvous Hotel. Room 122. You'll want to get there quickly." She hung up, a small huddled satisfied smile tugging the corners of her mouth. Yet no one betrayed her and went away unscathed.

She watched a few minutes later from her car as the police came in, guns drawn, reporters milling around them. The blinking lights of the police van reflected onto her screen as she whispered low, "No one messes with me. not Ronald, not Catherine.”