Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF VANESSA
The next morning, I returned to work, my clothes rumpled, my eyes bloodshot. Vanessa met me at the door of my office, looking radiant and utterly unaware of the catastrophe at home.
"Wesley! You’re late," she laughed, stepping into my office and closing the door behind her. "I have a new boutique in mind today. They just got in a collection of silk scarves—"
"Get out," I snarled, my voice cracking.
Vanessa blinked, her smile faltering. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Get out of my office. Get out of my life." I threw the manila folder onto the desk, scattering the photos of us like confetti.
She looked at the pictures, then at me, her expression shifting from confusion to a cold, hard sneer. "Oh, stop being so dramatic. She was a wallflower, Wesley. You told me yourself you were miserable. I’m the one who actually knows how to have a good time."
"She was my wife," I roared, standing up and slamming my fist into the desk. "She was the mother of my child! And because of you—because of us—I’ve lost everything."
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Vanessa grabbed her purse, her eyes flashing with malice. "You lost her because you’re weak, Wesley. You wanted a plaything, and now you’re throwing a tantrum because you realize you’re not the hero of this story."
She walked out, and for the first time, I realized she was right. I was the villain.
