HAZEL'S POV
The doorman looked surprised when I walked into the lobby empty-handed.
"Mrs. Sterling," he said, his usual smile faltering. "No packages today?"
"No, Marco," I said. My voice sounded normal, which surprised me. "Just me."
I rode the elevator up to the penthouse. The doors opened silently into our entryway. Everything was exactly as I'd left it that morning. Perfect. Quiet. Cold.
Alex was home. I could hear him in his study, talking on the phone. His "board voice" - low, confident, in charge.
I walked to the kitchen. The contract was still on the island. My signature looked back at me, dark and final. Next to it was a small velvet box.
I didn't touch it. I just stared.
The phone call ended. Footsteps approached. Alex appeared in the doorway, still in his suit pants and dress shirt, sleeves rolled up.
"There you are," he said. He came over and kissed my cheek. "I was starting to wonder. Did you have a long lunch?"
I looked at him. He genuinely didn't know. He hadn't even noticed I'd been gone for six hours.
"I went for a walk," I said.
"Good," he said absently, opening the refrigerator. "The doctor says you need more steps. Did you see the box?"
"Yes."
"It's a token," he said, pulling out a bottle of water. "For being so reasonable about the clause. Open it."
I picked up the small box. The velvet was soft. I opened it. Inside was a pair of diamond earrings. They caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows on the counter. They probably cost more than most people's cars.
"Do you like them?" he asked, watching my face.
"They're beautiful," I said. And they were. Cold and perfect and expensive.
"Good," he said, satisfied. He closed the fridge. "Wear them to the Gala next week. They'll look stunning with the blue dress." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh, and I saw you signed the addendum. Smart move. I knew you'd see it was the logical choice."
He disappeared back into his study. The door closed softly.
I stood there holding the diamonds. A gift for signing away our marriage. Payment for my compliance.
I put the earrings back in the box. I put the box next to the contract. Two transactions, completed.
I went to our bedroom. My closet was the size of some people's apartments. Rows of clothes, all organized by color. Shoes in clear boxes. Purses on shelves. A museum of things I hadn't chosen.
In the very back, I found what I was looking for. An old duffel bag, from my college days. It was dusty. I shook it out.
I started packing. Not much. Just the real things. A pair of comfortable jeans. A few t-shirts. My worn-out sweater. Simple underwear, not the lace things Alex bought. Sneakers.
From the bathroom, I took my toothbrush. My hairbrush. The face cream I actually liked, not the two-hundred-dollar jar he'd gotten me.
It all fit in the duffel with room to spare.
I looked at my side of the closet. The silk dresses. The designer suits. The heels. They didn't feel like mine anymore. They were costumes for the part of Mrs. Sterling.
I took one thing. A simple black dress that I'd bought for myself years ago, before Alex. It was worn soft at the elbows.
My jewelry box was on the dresser. I opened it. Emeralds. Sapphires. Pearls. All gifts for various anniversaries or apologies. I closed it. I didn't want any of it.
But I did take my wedding ring off. It felt strange, my finger bare after so many years. The skin underneath was pale. I put the ring in the jewelry box and closed the lid.
"Planning a trip?"
I jumped. Alex was leaning in the doorway, watching me.
"Just organizing," I said, my heart pounding. "The closet was getting crowded."
He nodded, not really listening. "I'm going to the club for dinner with the Reynolds. You're welcome to come, but you know how boring they are."
"I'm tired," I said. "I think I'll just stay in."
"Suit yourself," he said. "Order from that French place you like. Put it on the card."
He came over and kissed my forehead. "Get some rest. You've had a big day."
He had no idea.
After he left, I waited ten minutes. Then I picked up my duffel bag. I walked through the penthouse one last time. I didn't feel sad. I just felt... light.
In the kitchen, I hesitated. The contract. The earrings. My old life in two neat packages.
I took the contract. I folded it and put it in my bag. I left the earrings.
The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. Marco was still at his post.
"Going out again, Mrs. Sterling?" he asked cheerfully.
"Yes," I said. "I'll be back... later."
I walked out into the evening air. It was getting dark. The city lights were coming on.
I walked the same six blocks to The Lane Gallery. The CLOSED sign was up, but there was a light on inside. I knocked softly.
Asher opened the door. He was wearing different jeans and a faded t-shirt. He had a paint smudge on his cheek.
"Hazel," he said, surprised. Then he saw my bag. "Oh."
"Can I come in?" I asked.
"Of course." He stepped aside.
The gallery was dark except for one light in the back. My painting was still on the easel, covered with the cloth.
"I brought my things," I said, holding up my duffel. "Is the studio still available?"
Asher looked at me for a long moment. "You left."
"Yes."
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
He didn't ask questions. He just nodded. "Come on. I'll show you the space."
He led me through the curtain to the back studio, then through another door I hadn't noticed. It led to a small room. Just a twin bed, a dresser, a tiny bathroom. A window looked out onto the alley.
"It's not much," Asher said. "But it's clean. And it's quiet."
"It's perfect," I whispered.
"The rent is included with the studio," he said. "So your job still covers it. If you want it."
"I want it," I said.
"Okay," he said. He handed me a key. "This is for the gallery front door and this room. I live upstairs, so if you need anything, just knock."
"Thank you," I said. My eyes filled with tears again. I was so tired of crying. "I don't know why you're doing this."
"Because everyone needs a safe place to land," he said simply. "Get some sleep. Your first shift starts at ten, remember?"
"I remember."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
I put my duffel on the bed. I unpacked my few things into the dresser. It took about three minutes.
I sat on the bed. It creaked. The mattress was thin. The room smelled like dust and old wood.
I took the contract out of my bag. I unfolded it. In the dim light, I read my signature again. Hazel Sterling.
That woman didn't exist anymore.
I went back out to the studio. I turned on one light. I took the cloth off my painting. The red was dry now. It looked different in the low light. Less angry. More sad.
I got a pencil. On the back of the contract, on the blank side, I started to draw. Not anything special. Just lines. Shapes. My hand remembering what to do.
I drew until my eyes wouldn't stay open. Then I went back to my little room. I changed into my old t-shirt. I brushed my teeth in the tiny sink.
I lay in the narrow bed, listening to the sounds of the city outside. Cars. A siren in the distance. People laughing somewhere.
For the first time in years, I was alone. Really alone.
And for the first time in years, I wasn't afraid.
My phone was still back at the penthouse. Alex would probably call it later, wondering where I was. He'd leave a message. He'd be annoyed, then concerned, then angry. But not until morning. He wouldn't really worry until morning.
I closed my eyes. The room was dark. The bed was hard.
And I slept.