A Billionaire's Boredom, A Wife's Rise

Eliza Dunlap POV:

He came home one evening without warning, striding into the master bedroom where I was sketching at my new drafting table. He was holding a half-packed suitcase. I hadn't even known he was in the house.

He stopped short when he saw me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He hadn' t expected me to be here. He' d clearly come to pack for the "business retreat" with Isla, assuming the house would be empty.

"Eliza," he said, his voice hesitant. He struggled for a moment, his jaw tight. It was clear he was trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected confrontation.

"The team retreat is this weekend," he said finally, his body tense. "I was wondering… if you' d like to come."

His posture was rigid, his words clipped. He was extending an invitation, but his entire being screamed that he was hoping I'd say no.

I felt a laugh bubble up from my chest, a genuine, unrestrained sound of amusement. The absurdity of it all was just too much.

His tension visibly increased at my laughter. He looked like a man cornered.

A wicked little thought sparked in my mind. For three years, I had been the compliant, understanding wife. It was time for a change.

"I'd love to," I said, my voice bright and cheerful.

Atticus froze. He stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, a look of pure, unadulterated panic in his eyes. He knew I didn't fit into his world of corporate sharks and old-money heirs. He had counted on me to politely decline, to spare him the awkwardness of my presence.

His invitation had been a mere formality, a performance of a husbandly duty he felt obligated to fulfill. He never dreamed I would actually accept.

The panic in his eyes quickly morphed into frustration. He bent down and started pulling clothes out of the suitcase, throwing them back into the closet with jerky, angry movements.

He didn't look at me. He couldn't.

"Actually, something's come up," he said, his voice tight with barely concealed rage. "A last-minute emergency at the office. I can't go anymore."

He straightened up, finally turning to face me. "So, you shouldn't go either." It was an order, not a suggestion.

"Oh," I said simply, my voice devoid of any emotion. I turned back to my drafting table, picked up my glass of water, and took a slow sip.

I heard him hesitate for a moment, waiting for a reaction, for the argument he was clearly spoiling for. When none came, he let out an exasperated sigh and stormed out of the room.

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of his sports car roaring to life in the driveway. I walked to the window just in time to see him tiptoeing down the front steps, carrying his hastily repacked suitcase, before disappearing into the night.

He was still going. He had just needed to get me out of the way.

I remembered how he used to worry that my middle-class manners would embarrass him in front of his friends. Now, it was different. Now, he was afraid I would interrupt the next chapter of his love story with Isla.

I watched the red taillights of his car fade into the distance.

How much longer, Atticus? I thought, a strange sense of calm settling over me. How much longer until you ask for a divorce?

I was ready.