Clarissa was boiling.
For two whole days, she had not stopped ranting. The sound of her heels clicking furiously across the marble floors echoed through the Whintrop mansion like gunfire, every word laced with venom.
"You wouldn't dare!" she shrieked at him, her haughty face flushed with rage.
Ryan stood still, his fists clenched at his sides. Her words had long lost their sting, but tonight something inside him had snapped.
"You wouldn't dare disgrace me like that!" she spat again, as if the ink on that paper bound his soul.
"I don't care about your public image, I'm done caring what the world thinks!" Ryan roared back, his voice shaking the walls. "I'm done!"
Clarissa froze. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat. Never--not once in their three years of marriage--had Ryan raised his voice at her. He had always been silent, obedient, swallowing her insults like bitter medicine. But now, as he stood before her with fire in his eyes, she felt something unfamiliar. Fear.
This side of him was terrifying. Who was he to talk back to her?
"You wouldn't go against the Whintrop family," she hissed, grasping onto threats the way a drowning person clings to driftwood. "We will crush you to the ground. You cannot ruin our perfect image."
But Ryan no longer cared. He had nothing left to lose.
He didn't even spare her another word. He turned on his heel, his steps heavy and unrelenting as he stormed out of the mansion.
Clarissa's voice rose after him, shrill and desperate. "You have nothing without me, you hear me? Nothing! Where would you even start from? You're nothing but a--"
Her voice trailed off into the cavernous halls as the door slammed behind him.
For the first time in two years since she began acting up, Clarissa was not the one in control.
Her chest heaved, her hands trembling. Panic began to slither into her veins, and with it came a cold realisation--Ryan wasn't bluffing. He was truly leaving.
"No…" she whispered to herself, pacing in the living room like a trapped animal. "He can't… He wouldn't…"
But deep down, she knew he would.
In a frenzy, she snatched her phone off the table and dialled the one person who had always dictated her life.
"Mother," she gasped the moment Eleanor Whintrop's polished voice answered. "He's divorcing me. Ryan--he's walking out!"
There was a pause, then Eleanor's voice came smooth and commanding, the tone of a woman who had never known defeat. "Calm yourself, Clarissa. He's not worth being upset about. And remember a Whintrop always gets what they want. Do you hear me? Always."
Clarissa bit her lip, tears brimming in her eyes. "But he--he shouted at me. He looked at me like--like I was nothing! He won't listen anymore."
Eleanor's laugh was low and disdainful. "Men like him never last long without us. He is a worker, a pawn, nothing more. Let him have his little tantrum. We will remind him of his place soon enough. And if he refuses…" Her voice dropped into a chilling whisper. "…then he will learn that crossing the Whintrop family has consequences."
Clarissa's breathing slowed. Her mother's words were a balm, restoring her pride. Of course. Ryan was nothing. He would come crawling back--or he would be crushed. Either way, the Whintrops would win.
---
Meanwhile, Ryan walked into the night, his chest burning with fury and despair. The cool air brushed against his skin, but it did little to ease the storm raging inside him. His thoughts spiralled, replaying everything that had brought him to this breaking point.
It was true--he'd willingly and happily married Clarissa. Three years ago, Clarissa had approached him with sweetness in her eyes, her voice soft, her hand brushing his as though she cared, maybe she cared. In the beginning, she had been kind, supportive, even tender. She had convinced him that what they had was real, that their marriage was a partnership of love and respect.
It all changed when Matthias came into the picture. Like a fool, he believed that if he did everything right for her, she would come back to him.
The truth now stood before him like an open wound: she would never see him in the same light again. Now he was only a pawn she could parade to the world as proof of her benevolence. Worse still, he was a placeholder. The heiress who married the lowly employee. The fairytale that was nothing but a lie.
And behind the scenes? She had treated him as less than dirt, stripping him of dignity, tossing aside his sacrifices, and worst of all--giving herself to Matthias Reed.
Ryan clenched his teeth. How long had it been going on? How long had she been letting Matthias touch her while she spat on his loyalty? The thought made bile rise in his throat.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking aimlessly through the quiet streets, trying to think, to breathe, to find some path forward. His life had been consumed by Clarissa and the Whintrops for three years--what was left of him now?
But as he wrestled with his thoughts, he noticed something too late.
A car screeched to a halt just ahead of him, its tires shrieking against the asphalt. His instincts flared, but before he could react, the doors burst open.
Masked men spilt out, their footsteps pounding the pavement.
Ryan spun, his pulse spiking, but they were on him in seconds. Rough hands grabbed his arms, his shoulders, his throat.
"Let go!" he roared, thrashing wildly, his fists flying. He landed a hit on one man's jaw, heard the crunch of bone and a grunt of pain, but it wasn't enough. Another seized him from behind, forcing his arms back until his muscles screamed.
He kicked, he fought, but there were too many.
A sack was yanked over his head, plunging him into suffocating darkness. His shouts were muffled, his body dragged backwards. The cold night air was replaced by the stifling stench of leather seats as they shoved him into the vehicle.
The door slammed shut.
Engines roared.
And just like that, Ryan was gone--swallowed whole by the shadows.