Chapter 3: Violetta
By the following morning, I had barely slept, but I forced myself out of bed before sunrise because there was too much to do. My new position would begin soon, and although the company had already handled most of the formalities, I still needed to decide what I was taking with me and what I was leaving behind. I moved around the bedroom with a suitcase open across the bed, folding clothes into it while my phone rested beside me and buzzed every few minutes with messages from the company and calls I had no intention of answering.
I was reaching for another blouse when the phone rang again. I ignored it at first, assuming it was another reminder from my new employer, but when the same number called a second time, I finally picked it up. Three messages were waiting for me, and the first one made my hands stop moving.
Is it true what people are saying about Mark?
I stared at the message before opening the second one, which contained a link. When I tapped it, my stomach tightened as I read the headline. The story about Mark had already spread, although the article did not name my mother directly. It described a married CEO who had allegedly been caught in a compromising situation with a woman close to his family, and the comments beneath the article were already filled with speculation about who the woman was and what had happened inside his office.
I scrolled through the article with growing disbelief. Someone had included photographs of Mark outside his office, pictures from our wedding, and photographs of my mother from events she had attended with us. Whoever had started the story had provided enough information for people to connect the pieces themselves, and the comments were becoming more specific by the minute.
I lowered the phone and stared at the suitcase on my bed. I had not told anyone what I saw yesterday. I had barely made it home before Mark called me, and I certainly had not contacted the press or anyone connected to his company. I picked up the phone again and read through the comments, trying to understand how something that had happened only hours ago could already be circulating so widely.
Another call came through, and this time I answered when I saw my friend's name.
“Violetta, are you alright?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.
“I don't know,” I admitted as I sat on the edge of the bed. “Have you seen what people are saying?”
“Yes. I was actually calling to ask whether you were the one who told them.”
“I wasn't.”
There was a brief silence before she replied, “I didn't think you would.”
“Neither did I,” I said, although the words sounded strange even to me. I ended the call a moment later because I did not have the strength to explain everything over the phone.
I had barely placed the phone beside me when I heard a car pull into the driveway. I knew the sound immediately, and the knowledge sent tension through my shoulders. A few seconds later, the front door opened, followed by Mark's voice calling my name from downstairs.
“Violetta!” I remained beside the bed while his footsteps moved through the house. He called again, louder this time, and then I heard him coming up the stairs. When he appeared in the doorway, his suit was still perfectly pressed, but his tie was slightly crooked and his face was drawn with exhaustion and anger. “What did you do?” he demanded.
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I'm talking about.”
He walked into the room and closed the door behind him. “The story that's everywhere. Did you leak it?”
I stared at him in disbelief. “I didn't put anything anywhere.”
“Yesterday, only three people were in that office,” he said. “You, me, and your mother. I didn't tell anyone, and your mother hasn't said anything, so who else could have done it?”
“I don't know. Why would you even think that's it me?”
“You're angry enough to do anything right now.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “You cheated on me, Mark. Why would I want everyone knowing about your betrayal?”
“Because you want to hurt me.”
“I don't need to hurt you. You did that to yourself.”
His jaw tightened, but he quickly composed himself. “I understand that you were angry, and I respect that you were hurt, but what you've done is completely unacceptable.”
I looked at him for several seconds before answering. “You respect that I was hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you should remember why I was hurt in the first place.”
“I am not talking about yesterday. I'm talking about what is happening now.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen before continuing. “Do you have any idea how many calls I've received since this morning? Investors are asking questions, the board is demanding answers, and people are already speculating about whether I can remain in my position.”
I stared at him with disbelief. “You're worried about your position.”
“Of course I am,” he replied, as though there were nothing strange about his answer. “My career is at stake.”
I stared at him, unable to believe that he could stand in front of me and speak about his career as though my marriage had never existed. “And what about mine?” His expression changed slightly, but he did not answer. I stepped closer to him. “You slept with my mother, Mark. You told me yesterday that you needed a child to protect your position, and now you're standing here because people found out what you did. Yet somehow, the person you're angry with is me.”
“You don't know everything that happened.”
“I know enough.”
“You walked into my office at the worst possible moment, and now you've decided to destroy everything I've worked for because you're angry.”
“I didn't destroy anything.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I haven't told anyone what happened.”
He stared at me with obvious disbelief, and I realized that he had already decided I was lying. From his perspective, there were only three people who knew what had happened, and he was certainly not going to admit that he had exposed himself. My mother would have no reason to deliberately destroy her own reputation, which left me as the only person he could blame. I picked up my phone from the bed and held it toward him. “I don't know who leaked it. I haven't spoken to anyone about you.”
He glanced at the screen but refused to take it. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I don't care what you believe.”
He rubbed his forehead and took a breath before saying, “Your mother has been crying all morning.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“Your mother hasn't stopped crying since yesterday. She's devastated by what has happened.”
I lowered my phone slowly. “She's devastated?”
“She knows what happened has become public, and she's ashamed.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “And what exactly do you expect me to do about that?”
“You should go and see her.”
“Why?”
“She needs you. She is your mother.”
I shook my head. “You want me to go and comfort the woman who was kissing my husband?”
“You're angry, and I understand that, but you don't have to punish her like this.”
“Punish her?” I repeated, my voice rising despite my attempt to remain calm. “I walked into your office and found you with her. I didn't call the newspapers. I didn't send anyone those photographs. I came home, and you called me. Now you're standing in my bedroom telling me that I owe her an apology.”
“She is suffering too.”
“So am I.”
“You're making this emotional.”
I stared at him. “What else is it supposed to be?”
He opened his mouth, but whatever he intended to say disappeared when his eyes dropped to my left hand. His expression changed as he stared at my bare finger. “Where is your ring?”
I looked down at my hand. “I took it off.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
His eyes remained fixed on my hand. “Why?”
“Because I don't want to wear it anymore.”
“Violetta, you can't do that.”
I looked back at him. “Why not?”
“Because people are already talking.”
“They're talking because you cheated on me.”
“If you walk around without your ring, everyone will assume the rumors are true.”
“They are true.”
“You know what I mean.” He began pacing across the bedroom, and the panic in his movements was different from the anger he had shown when he arrived. “We need to control this before it gets worse.”
I watched him carefully. “What do you suggest?”
“We make a statement.” I said nothing, waiting for him to explain. “We tell everyone that the rumors are false,” he continued. “We say that there was a misunderstanding and that we're still together. People are making assumptions because they don't know the truth.”
I stared at him. “You want me to lie.”
“I want you to protect our marriage.”
“You want me to protect your career.”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but the silence that followed told me I was right. I turned away from him and reached for the handbag I had packed earlier. I opened it and pulled out the folder containing the documents I had prepared.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I threw the papers at him. They struck his chest before scattering across the carpet, and when he bent to pick them up, his eyes moved over the first page. The color drained from his face as he looked at the document again, as though he could somehow change the words by reading them twice. “You're divorcing me?”
“Yes.”
He dropped the papers onto the bed. “You can't be serious.”
“I am.”
“After everything we've built together?”
“You were the one who destroyed it.”
His expression hardened. “You think you can just walk away from me?”
“I can.”
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
“I know exactly what I'm doing.”
He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “You think you're going to survive without me? You have no job, Violetta. You have no business of your own, no position, and no idea what the world outside this house looks like anymore. You gave all of that up for me, remember?” I said nothing as I reached for my suitcase. “You think you can leave this marriage and simply start over?” he continued. “You will lose everything.” I pulled the suitcase from the bed and closed it. Mark stepped closer, his voice becoming colder. “If you go through with this, Violetta, I will make sure you regret it.”
I met his eyes, picked up my suitcase and walked toward the door. “Move, Mark.”