One Hundred Reasons To Walk Away

Elise Lynn POV:

The plane ticket to Nashville felt like a golden key in my hand, unlocking a future I hadn't dared to dream of. Chloe was ecstatic when I called, and within a week, the groundwork for "New Anthem Records" was laid. It was a name I chose deliberately, a defiant declaration of a fresh start, a new song.

The first few weeks were a blur of meetings, spreadsheets, and endless brainstorming sessions with Chloe. My creative spark, long buried under Ashton's indifference, roared back to life. Ideas for melodies, lyrics, and artists poured out of me. It was exhilarating, a potent antidote to the emotional poison I had lived with for so long. Every note I composed, every business plan I drafted, felt like a brick in the foundation of my new self.

I ignored Ashton's calls. I blocked his number. His mother's increasingly frantic messages, accusing me of abandoning her "poor, recovering son," were also met with silence. Their voices, once capable of sending tremors through my carefully constructed walls, now felt distant, muffled.

Then, three weeks after I left, came the anniversary. The day Ashton would undoubtedly return to our empty home, expecting me.

I was at the office late, tweaking a new artist's demo, when my phone buzzed. An unknown number. I answered, a flicker of apprehension.

"Elise? It's Ashton." His voice. It was strange to hear it, like a ghost from a past life.

"Ashton," I replied, my voice cool, devoid of any warmth. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

A pause. "You're... working late?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yes. Some of us actually have jobs." The jab was unintentional, a reflex born of years of being unseen.

"I called the house," he said, ignoring my sarcasm. "No one answered."

"I don't live there anymore, Ashton. We're divorced."

Another silence, heavier this time. "Right. The papers. I... I wasn't expecting them."

"You signed them," I reminded him, my tone flat. "What do you want?"

"I was thinking... it's our anniversary," he began, his voice hesitant, almost vulnerable. "Maybe we could… celebrate? Dinner?"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Celebrate what, Ashton? Your freedom? My escape?"

"Elise, don't be like this. I know things have been rough, but..."

"Rough?" I cut him off, a sharp edge entering my voice. "Rough is an understatement. You know, I kept bringing you your tea and artisanal bread even when you were in the hospital, even after you told Bailey you'd sacrifice your entire fortune for her."

He stammered. "I... I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to reassure her. She was upset."

"And I wasn't?" My voice rose slightly, a tremor of the old pain surfacing. "I was lying in the cold, hard reality of your neglect, while you were stroking her hand. Did you think about me then?"

"Elise, you're being emotional." The familiar dismissive tone.

"I'm being human, Ashton. Something you wouldn't understand." I took a deep breath, reining in the anger. This wasn't about him anymore. It was about me. "Look, I have plans. I have a company to run. I have a life to build. Without you."

"But... I want to talk. We need to talk." He sounded desperate now, a note I had never heard from him before.

"Talk about what, Ashton? About how you don't know my favorite food anymore? About how you couldn't identify a single one of my songs if your life depended on it? About how you only remember I exist when Bailey isn't around?" My words hit him like a barrage of tiny, sharp stones.

Another pause. A heavy, suffocating silence.

"Are you going to contest the divorce?" I asked, cutting through the quiet.

"No," he said, the word barely audible. "I... I just thought..."

"You thought wrong." Just then, my office landline rang. It was Cason, my new business partner. "I have to go, Ashton. I'm busy."

"Elise, wait! Can you just meet me? For one last dinner? For old times' sake?" He sounded pleading.

A strange idea sparked in my mind. One last dinner. One last clear, undeniable moment to cement my decision. "Fine," I said, surprising myself. "Seven o'clock. The 'Golden Spoon' restaurant. Don't be late."

I hung up before he could respond. Cason walked in, a questioning look on his face. "Everything alright?"

"Perfectly alright," I said, a brittle smile on my face. "Just tying up loose ends."

I spent the next few hours with Cason, finalizing our plans for a new artist launch. He was kind, attentive, genuinely interested in my ideas. He saw me. The contrast was stark, a vivid illustration of everything I had been missing.

At six-thirty, I dressed in a simple black dress, a dress I had bought for myself, not for Ashton. I arrived at the Golden Spoon, a place I had once loved, now just a stage for my final act.

I saw Ashton's car pull up, him emerging with a bouquet of red roses and a small, elegantly wrapped package. My heart, against my will, gave a small, foolish flutter. A wisp of the old hope, a cruel, persistent ghost.

He saw me, and a cautious smile touched his lips. He started walking towards me, the flowers and package held out like an offering.

Then, another car pulled up. A sleek, black luxury sedan. And out stepped Bailey, looking radiant in a shimmering gown, her arm linked with another man. No, wait. She wasn' t linked with another man. She was linked with Ashton.

Ashton. Still holding the roses and the package.

Bailey, spotting me, beamed. "Elise! What a surprise! Ashton, darling, you didn't tell me you invited Elise to celebrate our gallery's grand reopening! How thoughtful!"

My breath hitched. Grand reopening? Not our anniversary? Not our dinner?

Ashton, looking like a deer caught in headlights, stammered, "Bailey, I... I just..."

Bailey, ignoring him, plucked the roses and the package from his hand. "Oh, these are lovely, Ashton! You remembered my favorite! And is this... the vintage art book I've been coveting?" She gasped, tearing open the paper with unfeigned delight. "Oh, darling, you shouldn't have! But I'm so glad you did!" She pressed a kiss to his cheek, a possessive, territorial gesture.

Ashton watched her, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He didn't look at me. Not once.

My lungs burned. My vision tunneled. The air tasted like ashes. He brought her flowers. He bought her the gift. On our anniversary.

"You're a good wife, Elise," Bailey purred, glancing at me with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Always so understanding."

The words, dripping with saccharine poison, finally broke something inside me. Not my heart, not this time. My blind loyalty. My foolish belief that he could ever see me.

He didn't just forget. He didn't just neglect. He used me. He used my name, my presence, to make Bailey feel… what? More important? More desired? A prop in his twisted game.

I felt a cold rage blossom in my chest, pushing out the last vestiges of pain. It wasn't about love anymore. It was about dignity. And I was going to reclaim every last piece of mine.