One Hundred Reasons To Walk Away

Elise Lynn POV:

Bailey, still clinging to Ashton' s arm, glided into the restaurant, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She led the way to a prime table by the window, a table I used to think Ashton reserved for special occasions with me. Now I knew it was just her preference.

"Oh, Ashton, darling, this decor is simply exquisite!" Bailey cooed, running a manicured finger along a velvet curtain. "Remember that tiny little bistro in Paris, years ago? The one with the hand-painted ceilings? We talked about recreating that exact vibe one day."

Ashton, his face still a careful mask, nodded. "I remember, B. You always had the best eye for aesthetics."

"You do remember!" Bailey gasped, turning to him with wide, innocent eyes. "I thought you'd forgotten all about my little dreams."

"I could never forget anything about you, Bailey," Ashton said, his voice soft, almost reverent. The words, meant for her, felt like a branding iron against my skin. He remembered her dreams, her preferences, her every whim. Mine? They were buried under years of neglect.

"What would you like, B?" Ashton asked, already reaching for the menu, his gaze fixed on her. "I remember you always loved the truffle pasta here."

"Oh, you do know me so well!" she giggled, a sound that grated on my nerves. "But Ashton, darling, you should ask Elise what she likes. She's your wife, after all." The last words were laced with a venomous sweetness, a calculated jab.

Ashton finally turned to me, his eyes blank, devoid of recognition. "Elise? What would you like?" His voice was polite, distant, as if speaking to a stranger.

I stared at him, the heavy silence amplifying the shame and humiliation burning through me. He didn't know. He truly didn't know. Three years of marriage, countless meals together, and he had no idea what I liked, what I preferred, what made my taste buds sing. My favorite dish, the spicy seafood linguine, was probably as foreign to him as my deepest desires.

My throat tightened, a raw, painful knot. My chest felt constricted, making it hard to draw a full breath. The air around me seemed to thicken, pressing in, threatening to suffocate me. I could feel Bailey' s triumphant gaze, Ashton' s blank indifference. It was too much.

"I... I need some air," I managed to choke out, pushing back my chair with a screech that drew curious glances from other diners.

I practically fled the table, my legs unsteady, the ornate carpets feeling like quicksand beneath my feet. I just needed to escape, to breathe, to get away from their suffocating charade.

I burst into the quiet hallway leading to the restrooms, leaning against the cool marble wall, gasping for breath. My vision was blurry, hot tears pricking at my eyes.

"Running away already, Elise?" Bailey's voice, cutting and cold, sliced through my haze. She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, a predatory smile on her lips. "I thought you were stronger than this."

I pushed myself off the wall, trying to project an image of strength I didn't feel. "What do you want, Bailey?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just for you to finally get the picture." She took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. "He never loved you, you know. You were just... convenient. A placeholder. Someone to keep his family off his back while he waited for me."

The words, though not entirely surprising, still landed like a sucker punch. "That's a lie," I whispered, though even to my own ears, it sounded weak.

"Is it?" She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "He built this entire restaurant for me, Elise. Every detail, every painting on the wall, every dish on the menu was inspired by a conversation we had years ago. He told me he'd recreate our favorite Parisian bistro. And he did."

My mind flashed back to Ashton's reverent look when he spoke of her memories. The truth, ugly and undeniable, clawed its way into my consciousness.

"He does everything for me, Elise. His career, his ambition... it's all tied to me. Always has been. You were just a temporary distraction. A convenient beard." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "He even told me he'd sacrifice his entire fortune for my success. What has he ever sacrificed for you? For your 'dreams'?"

The memory of Ashton's words in the hospital room, his casual dismissal of me, his desperate devotion to Bailey, flooded my mind. My head spun. The walls of the hallway seemed to tilt, the ornate wallpaper swirling into a dizzying vortex. I felt lightheaded, as if all the blood had drained from my body.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a croak.

"Because I want you gone," she hissed, her mask of sweetness finally dropping. "I want him entirely. And you're just in the way. So, do us all a favor, Elise. Disappear."

Just then, a low rumble vibrated through the floor. A distant cracking sound, like thunder. The elegant chandelier overhead, a massive, crystal-laden monstrosity, swayed precariously.

A collective gasp rose from the dining room. Then screams. Panic erupted.

"What was that?" Bailey shrieked, momentarily forgetting her predatory stance.

The chandelier groaned, a metallic shriek that tore through the sudden silence. It was falling.

Ashton, his face a mask of terror, sprinted from the dining room. His eyes, usually so calculating, were wide with a primal fear. He looked at us, two women, frozen in the path of the plummeting crystal monster.

He hesitated for a split second. A split second that felt like an eternity. His gaze flickered between Bailey and me.

Then, he made his choice.

He shoved Bailey out of the way with a force that sent her sprawling, then threw himself over her, shielding her with his body.

The chandelier, a glittering cascade of destruction, crashed down.

I saw it coming, a slow-motion avalanche of glass and metal. There was no time to react. No one to save me.

A searing pain erupted in my head, then darkness. The last sound I heard was the deafening roar of the crash, and Ashton's muffled "Bailey! Are you okay?"