Chapter 8 - The Desperate Midnight Plea
It was 1:15 AM when my driver dropped me off at the entrance of the penthouse.
The night was crisp and clear. The rain that had plagued the city weeks ago was gone, replaced by a cool autumn breeze blowing off Lake Michigan.
As I stepped out of the black town car, a figure emerged from the shadows near the building’s service entrance.
“Madison!”
The voice was hoarse, desperate, and cracked with emotion.
My private security guard, Frank, instantly stepped between me and the figure, his hand resting on his jacket.
“Hold on, Frank,” I said softly, recognizing the voice.
Ethan stepped into the amber glow of the streetlamp.
He looked unwashed, emaciated, and completely broken. He was wearing an old, faded coat, jeans that bagged around his waist, and on his left ankle, the bulky black plastic of a court-mandated electronic monitoring device was clearly visible.
He looked at me in my emerald gown, holding the crystal Riverfront award in my arm, and his eyes welled with bitter, agonized tears.
“Madison…” Ethan choked out, taking an involuntary step forward before Frank gave him a warning glare. “I saw the news. You won the contract.”
“We won the contract,” I corrected him coolly. “The firm won.”
Ethan dropped his head, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“It was supposed to be our dream,” he whispered, his voice trembling violently. “We drew those riverfront sketches on our kitchen island three years ago, Madison. Do you remember? We drank cheap wine and talked about how our names would be carved into the limestone promenade together.”
“I remember,” I said, feeling no anger, only a vast, empty chasm where my love used to live. “I remember every promise you made. And I remember how easily you threw them away for a girl who wouldn't even look at you without a wire transfer.”
Ethan fell to his knees on the cold concrete sidewalk.
Right there, on the public pavement outside the luxury high-rise he had once claimed to rule, Ethan Cole wept like a child.
“I made a mistake!” he wailed, burying his face in his hands. “God, Madison, I destroyed everything! I don't sleep. I don't eat. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face when you found that ring! I see the look in your eyes when you walked into the boardroom! I can’t live without you! Please… please tell Marcus to drop the civil suits. If you forgive me, the judge will give me probation. I’ll work for you as a draftsman! I’ll clean the offices! Just let me come home!”
I looked down at him.
Three weeks ago, seeing him on his knees might have felt like revenge.
Tonight, it just felt pathetic.
“Home isn't a building, Ethan,” I said softly. “Home was the trust, the loyalty, and the respect I gave you for five years. But you burned that home down to the ground because you wanted to play with fire.”
“I love you, Madison!” he screamed, looking up with bloodshot, desperate eyes. “I never stopped loving you! That text… that text was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life! Please take it back!”
I took a step toward him.
I looked into the eyes of the man I had once thought I would grow old with.
“You asked me to divorce you, Ethan,” I said, my voice gentle, calm, and utterly final. “And for the first time in our marriage, I gave you exactly what you wanted.”
I turned around.
“Frank,” I said to the security guard. “Call his probation officer. He’s outside his curfew radius.”
“Right away, Mrs. Cole,” Frank replied.
I walked through the brass-and-glass revolving doors of the penthouse lobby without looking back.
May you like
Behind me, through the thick glass, I could hear Ethan’s muffled cries fading into the cool Chicago night, drowned out by the distant hum of city traffic.
***
