The morning sun over the Hill Estates was deceptively tranquil, catching the steam rising from Carrie Wilson's coffee as she sat on her veranda. Below the stone railing, her backyard stretched out in perfectly manicured layers of green, but her focus was locked on the tablet in her hand. The stock market flickered with the jagged red and green lines of her empire's pulse.
Her head maid, Mona, approached with a silent, ghostly grace, carrying a heavy silver tray. Centered on it was a physical newspaper—a rare, tactile luxury reserved for the residents of the Hill. Carrie took the paper with a polite, "Thank you, Mona," and set her tablet aside.
The front page was dominated by a high-resolution photo of the Kane and Westbrook parents at the auction house. The headline read:
MERGERS IN THE MAKING?
Theorists suggest a secret union between the Kane and Westbrook dynasties is set to revolutionize the global landscape of aerospace and weaponry.
Carrie's eyes didn't linger on the power play for long. She flipped through the heavy stock pages until she reached the social section—the gossip stream of the estate. A specific blurb caught her eye:
Do you hear that sound? Or is it just me? I hear bells. It might be early spring in Omekian, but I hear wedding season is upon us. Who will be the first couple to step forward and proudly pronounce the next generation of the Hill?
A cold knot of nerves tightened in Carrie's chest. The letters of termination she'd sent to the board members were already delivered. Her husband would be hearing about the "gutting" of the board any second, and she had stayed home specifically to avoid a scene with members seeking retribution at the office. But this news—the "next generation"—was the opportunity she needed. She hoped the news of nuptials would hide her scandals from the Hill's prying eyes.
She dialed Peter.
The connection was instant, and his voice was a physical assault. "What have you done, Carrie?!" he boomed. "I'm hearing from three different directors that they've been unseated! You're dissolving the board? Have you lost your mind?"
"It is my company, Peter," Carrie interrupted, her voice a sharp contrast to his shouting. "I don't need anyone's approval to get rid of a useless board."
There was a stunned silence. Peter was used to her compliance. "We need to talk," she continued. "Come back to the Hill. Now."
She didn't say come home. The separation had already begun.
Back at the office, Peter slammed the phone onto his desk. With each ragged breath he took, her lingering floral perfume failed to lessen his growing fury. His secretary, a voluptuous woman with a practiced, feline grace, stepped behind him. Her hands began to massage his tense shoulders.
"She doesn't appreciate you, Peter," she whispered, her voice low and almost sexual. "What does she want now? You don't have time for her tantrums. You're the one running this company."
Peter leaned back into her touch, his ego drinking it in. "Carrie's the owner in name only," he spat. "Her name is on the building, but I'm the one doing the real work. I'm the one in the trenches."
The secretary leaned down, her words a sharp encouragement. "You need to put her in her place. You're the husband. She needs to fall in line."
Invigorated by the speech, Peter grabbed his keys. He marched through the lobby, his head held high. The staff lowered their heads and scrambled away as he passed, offering a muttered, "Mr. Taylor," with exaggerated subservience. The moment he stepped through the glass doors toward his ostentatious Aston Martin, the atmosphere changed.
"Huh, he's useless," an assistant muttered, rolling her eyes as the engine roared to life.
"He actually thinks he's the one in charge," another whispered. "He's more focused on trying to start his own business because his ego can't handle being the 'husband of the boss.'"
Peter's irritation peaked at the gates of the Hill Estates. The security guards stopped him, performing the standard ID check as if he were a common delivery driver. He knew this was intended to infuriate him—ordered by the Beckfords. Those elitist snobs. His wife hung on every word spoken by Ms. Beckford as if it were the word of God.
He tore up the driveway of the Wilson estate. His home, as he saw it. He stormed through the front door, ignoring the staff, until a maid pointed toward the terrace.
Carrie was there, sipping a matcha latte. As Peter stepped onto the stone path, he went "soft"—the mask of the subservient husband he detested warming its way back into place. "Darling," he said, leaning in to kiss her. Carrie turned her head, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
His jaw tightened. She had been doing that more and more lately, and it was starting to piss him off. He wanted an heir soon, and he couldn't get her pregnant if she wouldn't even let him touch her.
Reaching out, he patted her head softly, smiling down at her. "I know you're stressed," he started. "But the board, Carrie—you can't just unseat half the directors." The earlier bravado had dissipated. The authoritative edge he claimed at the office was nowhere to be found, and he spoke to his wife as if he had already been neutered.
"The board was clear in our previous meeting, Peter. They want new blood. I was inclined to agree. I'm removing them, and the Wilson Group will soon be looking for replacements."
"You can't just unseat half the board!" He couldn't help himself as his voice began to rise. He had worked for years molding the board into exactly what he wanted, finding the best ways to get his way with those types of people.
"It won't just be half, Peter. That's not why I asked you to come back." Her voice remained steady, steeled by the assurance that she was making the right choice. That it was time to let go.
"What could be more important than the gutting of the company?" Peter snapped, dropping into a seat. "This is unconscionable." He wouldn't have the same leverage he had now. With a new board, the power dynamic would shift entirely away from his hands.
"Are you happy?" Carrie asked quietly.
"Excuse me?" As he looked at her, he noticed an expression on her face that was unlike any he had seen before. It was gentle. Too gentle.
"Are you happy in this marriage? How it is?"
He let out a short, breathy laugh. "It's been hard recently, but I know we'll get back to how we normally are." He had noticed the shift between them, but he had no idea how to fix it. It wasn't as if something specific had happened. They always had their disagreements, but recently, Carrie had been too distant to reach.
"And how are we normally?" She didn't see the need to pretend they had a great love. To her core, it was the great lie they told each other—a way of pushing reality away. Carrie wanted more in her next marriage. She wouldn't be so starry-eyed as to call it love, but excitement, passion. Something more than just business.
"We're great! We're a team, we work well together." He couldn't imagine why she was doubting the benefits of their coupling. He had been an exemplary husband. Never once had he ever cheated; he kept a strict "look but don't touch" policy.
"A team. That's what I say about an executive at my company, Peter. It's not what I want to say about my husband." She was done fighting about work and business at every turn. He never thought about them as a couple, only the business, only his ambitions.
Peter shifted, his posture deflating. "What are you saying? That we need space? A little time apart to find our spark?" He would never accept any type of separation. Distance only gave opportunities to others looking to climb the corporate ladder he had already secured.
"No," Carrie said.
Before he could feel any relief, she reached across the table and took his hand in hers—a final kindness. "I'm really sorry, but I want a divorce."
Peter didn't move. "What do you mean? That's insane. You can't actually want a divorce." He couldn't help the involuntary chuckles that escaped his throat, disbelief coating his every word.
"I am very sorry. But I don't want to be married anymore." And definitely not to him, she thought.
"This doesn't make any sense! We don't even fight about our relationship. Everything's great! I'm not like the other husbands on the Hill. I'm a good man. I'm a really good man." In a way, he was speaking more to himself as his voice began to rise, his hand tightening around her smaller one. His mind was reeling in every direction. He didn't deserve this. He had done everything right. He was one of the good ones. He had never even cursed at her.
A quiet, toxic resentment began to pool in Peter's gut. He snatched his hand back. "You can't do this! You're my entire life! We've been together for four years!" Standing to his feet, the chair behind him fell to the ground. The loud noise drew the attention of the house staff. He ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly, looking for some sort of relief he couldn't yet grasp, until suspicion coiled deep in his belly. All of his earlier movements came to a dead stop. "Who is he? Is that what this is? Who is this 'better' man you're leaving me for? You're cheating, aren't you?"
"No one can steal what is already done," Carrie said. "It's been months. We rarely speak if it's not about business. Peter, I'm not cheating. There is nobody else. But I don't want this anymore."
"Then why are you destroying our family?" They had something special. And the moment he gave her a child, she would have something to focus on, finally able to step away from the business.
"Don't you think we were always doomed?" As silly as she was when they first got together, she was never so taken with him to think that they were the end-all, be-all.
"Never! Not once. I don't want to be with anybody else," he begged, desperation flooding him. He couldn't let her go. He had carved out the exact type of life he wanted, and it was as if she was trying to rip it all away.
"I'm tired of tiptoeing around my own home because I do not get along with the man who lives in it."
"Now I'm a roommate? Some uncomfortable ghost haunting your residence?" He had never imagined she'd one day say these words to him. Sweet little Carrie. Someone had to have gotten into her ear and poisoned her against him.
"No. The only ghosts here are the memories of when we were happy. We can't get back there. And I don't want to anymore." She was older now. Old enough to know that the happy times were just complacency. It was when she didn't make a fuss and allowed him to spend her money and use her name however he chose. Those were their happy times.
"You're just going to throw me away." Peter was hoping to guilt her. Maybe he would get another year or two to turn their marriage around.
"It's not like that. The prenup we signed is still in place and fair." She would take care of him; the prenup would see to that. He would not leave in poverty. He wouldn't be a billionaire, but he would still have millions to his name—millions that he did not previously have.
"Fair! I worked my ass off for you! That prenup gives me pennies!" Peter surged toward her, his energy menacing. Her staff instantly moved into a standby posture.
"Between the prenup and the shares, you will be very comfortable," Carrie promised him. She didn't intend to screw him over. Everything that they had previously discussed in the prenup, she would follow.
"Comfortable! Enough to live on the Hill?" In the four years they've been together, he had learned that it wasn't just money that opened doors. It was access. It was ZIP codes. And he wanted this one. The Hill was a gold mine of connections and resources.
"No." Even if she were willing, she would never allow Peter to stay on the Hill. This was her sanctuary.
"I want what I'm owed. And it's far more than that prenup," he hissed. All pretenses of a loving, subservient husband faded into nothingness. He faced his wife, and right now, she was resolute, so there was no need to play pretend.
" Owed!" The single word sent a bomb off inside of her. The calm facade she had kept close at hand began to crack. "You used me!" Her voice rose as she glared at him.
"You used me too! And now you're tossing me away after you've drained everything from me! I gave you everything—!"
Standing to her feet, she glared up at him. "Stop! You're not a victim. How many failed ventures have you used my money for? How much money did you try to embezzle?" Carrie's voice turned to ice. "But that's just money! You're far more disgusting than that. You wanted to weaponize my body. You injected me with hormones against my will and knowledge. You tried to get me pregnant when you knew I didn't want children." Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to force them away.
"That's a lie! I would never—" Peter swallowed hard as he screamed in her face, strictly denying what he knew she couldn't prove. He didn't think he was such a bad guy for wanting to give her a child. All women said they didn't want one until they held their little baby in their arms.
"At least be a man about it. Don't hide behind this ridiculous victim story." She sighed heavily and stared at him in disgust. She had been hiding how much it hurt to be betrayed like that. She always forgave him when it came to money—she had so much—but this! This was hurtful in a way that she could not properly describe. She'd been left orphaned after her parents died, and it was the hardest thing; the idea that she could do that to her own child was more than enough to make her never want to give birth. And he knew it. And still, he would do this to her against her will. One traitorous tear leaked out of her eye, which she quickly wiped away, falling back into her chair. She wondered how life had gotten so far away from where she wanted it to be.
Peter's head lalled back, staring at the sky. "You really did play me, pretending to be naive and innocent." His voice was cold and harsh, mocking as he smirked at her.
"Thankfully, I wasn't." Or else she'd be tied to him forever. "I bought a condo in Greenwood. It's all yours, free and clear." She was done talking to him. She couldn't even bear to look at him, not anymore.
"You think you're going to kick me out of my house?" They would need to drag him off this Hill.
"Your home?" She scoffed.
"Yes, my home! I'm not leaving!"
Carrie lifted her paper, no longer willing to humor any sort of conversation. She called out, "Paulo, I have an unwanted guest in my home. Please toss them out. And remind the gate staff that Mr. Taylor is no longer welcome."
Peter glared, but Paulo and three bodyguards gripped his arms with bruising strength. "Allow me to walk you out, Mr. Taylor," Paulo said as they practically carried him to the car. Ignoring his curses.
Once outside the front doors, Paulo snapped silver cuffs around Peter's wrists and shoved him into the passenger seat of the Aston Martin. Paulo drove him to the gates before uncuffing him. "Remember, you are no longer a guest. Any attempted reentry could end violently." He threatened.
Peter revved his engine and peeled away, his mind already spinning with ways to get back what he'd lost.
At the gatehouse, Leland watched him go. "What the hell was that about?"
"Revoke Mr. Taylor's access," Paulo said, glad to be rid of the arrogant fool.
"Finally. Four years of renewing that guy's passes was annoying. What's the reason? Separation or divorce?"
"Don't put an official reason on the log yet," Paulo said, watching the heavy iron gates lock. "Just wait until tomorrow. Then update it to pending divorce."
"Surprised," Leland shrugged. "This is my second divorce on the Hill." No one wanted to leave the Hill; it was the secret to a lasting marriage.
Author's note:
This is the third chapter that should have been out on Saturday. I'm working out of town. And the internet connection here sucks. This chapter wouldn't save every time I was editing it. So I just keep starting from the beginning. Super frustrating. I hope to get the next one out before I have to leave the hotel.