Chapter 4: Something needs to change.
Raymond left early that morning after spending some time in his study. He had promised to send the money once he got to his office, and I knew he would — he was a man who always kept his word, especially when it came to control.
I sat at the dining table quietly, forcing each spoonful of food down my throat. My heart was heavy, but I couldn't leave on an empty stomach. Hunger weakens the body, and I needed my strength for what I was about to do. My clothes and the few belongings I had left were already packed and hidden upstairs. I only needed to wait for the right moment — when the servants were gone.
While eating, my phone vibrated.
An alert.
₦100,000,000 credited to my account.
I stared at it for a while, expressionless. It didn't surprise me — money had never been my problem. Once upon a time, I handled more than that with a simple signature. I wasn't new to affluence; I was only passing through the season of loss. And like every season, I knew this too would end.
I finished my meal slowly and wiped my lips with the napkin, then stood up. "Butler French," I called softly.
The old man came running from the garden, wiping his hands on his apron. "Yes, madam, how may I help you?"
I smiled faintly, pretending weakness. "I'm feeling dizzy, French. My head hurts. I just want to be alone for a while."
His eyes filled with worry. "Oh, madam! Should I prepare some herbal drink? Or should I call the doctor?"
"No, no need for that. Just… let me rest. I'll call for you and the others when I wake." I spoke gently, acting like someone barely hanging on.
"Ohhh, is it that? You're free, madam. I'll inform the others. We'll be at our quarters. Please call if you need anything." He smiled, completely unaware of what I was planning.
As soon as I confirmed they had all gone, I rushed upstairs. My heart pounded, not from fear, but from relief. My bags were already waiting. I took one last look at the room — the same room that had witnessed my pain, my silence, and my nights of broken prayers.
Then I left.
No note. No trace.
Just the echo of my heels against the marble floor.
Within minutes, I was at the airport. I booked a flight straight to England — Lichfield, a quiet city far from all the noise of Macedonia. As the plane took off, I looked out the window. The sky was wide and endless, and for the first time in weeks, I breathed without fear.
I was finally free — even if it meant starting again with nothing.
Later that night, Raymond returned home.
I could imagine him — walking in, calm but cold, finding Butler French in the kitchen.
"Where is she?" he must have asked, his tone slicing through the air.
"She's upstairs, young master," French would have replied. "She complained of dizziness and weakness earlier. We didn't want to disturb her."
He would have gone upstairs, expecting to find me asleep. But when he opened that door and saw the empty room — the missing clothes, the quiet walls — I knew exactly what expression filled his face. That quiet fury. That disbelief that anyone would dare outsmart him.
And I did.
He must have searched the wardrobe, the restroom, even the drawers. Then he'd stop. Realizing I was gone.
Gone, without permission.
When his doctor called, Raymond's only reply was one cold word: "Forget."
He hung up.
Even Sky and Roger — his loyal men — tried to intervene.
"Boss," Roger probably said, "we can reach out to our troops outside. Should we trace her and bring her back?"
But Raymond's voice would have dropped to that chilling calmness. "Get out."
He dismissed them both and added, "Don't try looking for her. Let her be."
And just like that, I became a ghost. A memory no one was allowed to touch.
Paris asked after me days later when she visited, but he told her to forget about me. I could imagine her puzzled expression, and his face — calm, unmoved, as if I had never existed.
Let him.
Let them all pretend I'm gone.
Because one day, when I return, they'll remember my name again — and this time, they'll tremble when they say it.
Elsewhere in Macedonia, while I was settling into the silence of my new life, the city was celebrating.
Marcus and Charlotte's wedding day.
The news spread fast — a grand wedding, guests from all over the city, tables covered in dishes and laughter. The kind of celebration that mocked my pain.
Marcus's mother, Mrs. Anna Stompson, was glowing in pride. She had wanted this day so badly — but deep down, she had no idea what kind of monster her son had married.
Before the ceremony, Charlotte had cornered her mother-in-law in private. I heard what she said through the whispers that later reached me.
"Mother," she began sweetly, "do you remember what you promised me?"
"What is that, my wife?" Anna asked, pretending joy.
Charlotte tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I know today's dream has come true already, but I want you to persuade your son to give me half of his properties. Or am I asking too much?"
Even I had to smile bitterly when I heard that. Wickedness dressed in silk.
Anna was shocked. "What? Half of his properties? You don't need that, my dear. Since it's for Marcus, it's already yours too."
Charlotte's tone changed — sharp, accusing. "Really? Then why did you steal your husband's first wife's properties? You shouldn't have schemed to get what wasn't yours, mother."
That struck Anna deeply. She tried to hide her shame, but Charlotte wasn't finished.
"Okay," Anna finally said weakly, "I'll do as you want."
Charlotte smiled, victory glittering in her eyes. "Mother, what's wrong with your face? Did you get hurt? At least I asked politely — not like some people with devilish acts." She lifted her glass and sipped, watching her mother-in-law's forced smile.
Everyone saw glamour that day.
But what I saw — even from miles away — was the beginning of rot.
And somehow, that thought comforted me.
Because I knew that no evil lasts forever.
And theirs… had just begun.