Chapter 3 - The Gaslighter’s Return
By noon, Alexander stumbled back into our Lincoln Park apartment. He looked haggard, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled—a man who had spent the entire morning trying to negotiate with a vengeful husband and a hysterical mistress.
He found me sitting at the kitchen island, quietly sipping green tea and reading a design magazine.
“Claudia!” he gasped, rushing over and grabbing my shoulders. “Thank God you’re here. You have to listen to me. Last night... last night was a complete setup. Ryan ambushed us. He’s out of his mind, he’s threatening lawsuits, he forced Chloe into a corner—you know how unstable she is!”
I slowly lowered my cup and looked up at him, maintaining a mask of serene, chilling calm.
“Is that right, Alexander?” I asked softly. “What did Chloe say about all this?”
“She’s terrified! Ryan locked her out of their house, froze her credit cards, and now she has nowhere to go!” Alexander stammered, his eyes darting nervously. “Look, honey, she’s staying at an extended-stay suite downtown for a couple of days until things cool down. I just... I needed to calm her down. That’s all it was. A moment of weakness. You believe me, right? We’ve been married for nine years.”
For nine years, I would have melted at that tone. I would have comforted him, reassured him, and taken the blame for not paying enough attention.
Instead, I smiled—a cold, empty gesture that made him physically recoil.
“Nine years, Alexander,” I echoed. “That’s a long time to lie to someone, isn’t it?”
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“What is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, a flash of his true, arrogant temper breaking through his panicked facade.
“It means pack your bags,” I said, standing up from the stool. “Your clothes, your golf clubs, your ego. You can go stay at that extended-stay suite with Chloe. Because as of this morning, your key card to this apartment no longer works, and divorce papers are being drawn up.”
