He Destroyed My Orchids, I Destroyed Our Marriage

That night, my lawyer took me to Mount Sinai Hospital.

Dr. Evans informed me that the nerve damage in my wrist was severe. I might never be able to return to the delicate work of a perfumer.

My lawyer suggested I sue Ethan for personal injury.

I declined for the time being, asking him to focus on the divorce. If that didn't work, we could consider adding criminal charges.

The sharp pain of physical therapy jolted me back from my memories.

The doctor looked at my wrist with a regretful sigh.

"If only you had been brought in an hour earlier... such a pity."

I smiled, my face pale.

"It's okay. This is the price of freedom."

No more staying up all night researching the market for his career.

No more getting my hands scratched up while cultivating orchids for his health.

No more trailing behind him, waiting for a backward glance that would never come.

The doctor prescribed some medication to repair the nerves and then smiled.

"By the way, Ms. Hayes, that calming fragrance formula you provided? It passed all the tests. The state is rolling it out to medical facilities everywhere. The hospital is very grateful."

I wasn't surprised.

Countless top experts had been helpless against Ethan's insomnia; he relied solely on my formula.

After years of perfecting it, I knew just how powerful the formula was.

Coming out of the rehabilitation room, I ran into Chloe in the hospital lobby.

She strode toward me on towering red-soled heels, her eyes dripping with contempt as she stopped right in front of me.

"Ava Hayes, you're like a bad penny. Why do we keep running into you?"

We?

Right. Where there was Chloe, Ethan was never far behind.

Ever since Chloe returned, those two had never understood the concept of personal space.

I didn't want to see Ethan, and I certainly didn't want to see them shamelessly attached at the hip, like a pair of rabbits in heat.

Just as I was about to leave, Ethan appeared, his tone laced with annoyance.

"Are you following me?"

I couldn't really blame him for thinking that. From the day we met until our marriage, I had revolved around him for seven years.

If I were in his shoes, I might have the same misconception.

"Ethan, narcissism is a disease. I suggest you get a referral to the psych ward."

As I spoke, I stuffed the report into my bag and started to walk past him.

As I passed, he grabbed my wrist—my injured wrist—and squeezed, his grip like a vise.

The sudden, sharp pain made my face contort.

"Let go!" I gritted out through clenched teeth.

For seven years, I had always been gentle with Ethan. No matter how angry I was, I never raised my voice; I'd only ever let the hurt show in my eyes.

Seeing my pale face, he slowly released his grip, a hint of worry and doubt in his eyes.

"Why are you at the hospital? Are you sick?"

"I'm just asking. No need to be so defensive."

"And stop with the sympathy ploys. Your victim act is getting clumsy."