The Ninth Goodbye: My Husband's Cruel Bet

Ellie POV

Marcus stared at me, his eyes darting back and forth. He looked like a system crashing, unable to process a command in a foreign language.

"You're hysterical," he said, reverting to his favorite weapon.

I moved to the desk, gritting my teeth against the shooting pain in my leg. I pulled a crisp folder from my bag.

I had prepared this days ago, just in case.

I uncapped a pen and signed the bottom of the page with a flourish.

"What is that?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Revocation of Power of Attorney," I said, my voice dead flat. "You no longer have access to my trust fund. You no longer have voting rights on my shares in the firm. You are no longer my emergency contact."

I held the paper up between us like a shield.

"I am terminating your agency, Marcus. Completely."

His face drained of color. The firm relied heavily on my family's capital for the new skyscraper project. He needed my proxy vote to survive.

"You can't do that," he stammered, panic rising. "We have a deal. The groundbreaking is next month."

"We had a marriage," I corrected coldly. "Now? We have nothing."

I snapped a photo of the signed document and emailed it to my lawyer right in front of him.

"Sent."

His phone buzzed against the silence.

He looked at the screen. I recognized the ringtone immediately. Izzy.

He looked at me, then at the phone. For a second, he hesitated.

"Answer it," I said. "Go collect your prize."

He swiped to answer.

"Marcus!" Izzy shrieked through the speaker, loud enough for me to hear clearly. "The gallery alarm is going off! I think someone is breaking in! I'm so scared!"

His face softened instantly. The mask of the arrogant CEO dropped, replaced by the concerned white knight.

"I'm coming, Izzy. Stay in the car. Lock the doors."

He ended the call.

He looked at me one last time. There was no apology in his eyes-only annoyance that I was complicating his evening.

"I have to go," he said.

"I know," I replied.

He turned and sprinted out the door. He didn't look back.

I waited until I heard the heavy latch of the door click shut.

Then, I moved.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I simply packed.

I slid the blueprints into the protective tube. I threw my clothes into the duffel bag.

I called the airline. One way to Portland, Maine. Tonight.

While I waited for the cab, I checked Instagram one last time.

Marcus had already posted a photo. It was a selfie of him and Izzy in front of a police car. She was wrapped in his jacket, looking tragically beautiful.

Caption: Crisis averted. Keeping her safe. Priorities

The comments were flooding in. Couple goals. So brave. Where is the ex-wife? Probably bitter.

I felt a strange sensation wash over me.

It was the feeling of a flatline.

The spike of pain was gone. The dip of sadness had vanished.

There was just a long, steady silence inside my chest.

I powered down the phone.

I popped the SIM card out.

I walked to the trash can by the hotel entrance and dropped the tiny piece of plastic inside.

The cab pulled up to the curb.

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked.

"The airport," I said. "And then, as far away from here as possible."