Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ella
Lucas shoved through the door, leaving me curled on the couch, trembling.
"Take good care of Grandfather at home. You have your strengths too, don't you?"
The words hit like a slap across the face.
I'd been a caregiver for five years. Five years learning IV insertion, wound care, rehabilitation massage.
I'd helped stroke patients walk again and sat with terminal cancer patients through their final days.
Maya always said I had a gift—that I could hear trouble in a patient's breathing, spot deterioration in a change of color.
That was the only thing I had. I was proud of it.
But coming from Lucas, it shrank to nothing more than "knowing how to take care of people"—as if anyone could do it.
All that specialized knowledge I'd studied to help Mr. Rockefeller recover, those physical therapy techniques I'd practiced over and over, those emergency protocols and precautions I'd memorized—none of it mattered to him.
The wife he wanted dealt with brand designers, wore luxury effortlessly, and could be taken to formal events without preparation—a polished accessory on his social business card.
That would never be me. But Vivian fit perfectly. So all it took was one phone call for her to pull my husband away from me.
And I could only stand at the window, watching him walk out of the front hall.
I had to admit that no matter how many times I'd hated him, Lucas's figure still made my heart race.
Tall and cold, every long-legged stride carrying that natural authority.
Bodyguards closed in around him, black umbrellas raised, escorting him like royalty to the black luxury car crouched in the rain.
The door opened.
The moment I caught that flash of red inside, my breath stopped.
Vivian was stunning as ever in an aggressively gorgeous red haute couture gown, the bare expanse of her chest glowing under the dim light. She extended her arm gracefully, sliding it into Lucas's with perfect ease.
The headlights lit them like a movie poster. They looked like they were born to stand together.
A sharp cramp twisted through my stomach.
They were perfect for each other. Looks, presence, the unspoken chemistry in every gesture, everything screamed that this was the wife Lucas dreamed of. Vivian wasn't just an asset to his career. She could give him everything he wanted in life.
No wonder he favored her.
I closed my eyes.
As much as it hurt, my rational mind had to face reality. I never should have stepped into Lucas's world. This marriage was a mistake from the start.
I'd brought this on myself.
The engine faded, red taillights disappearing at the end of the manor drive. I sank to the cold floor, letting darkness swallow me.
A memory surfaced unbidden—the first time I realized Lucas and Vivian were more than colleagues.
Shortly after our wedding, Lucas brought me to a gala.
My first public appearance. I'd obsessed over it, hired the best stylists, spent five hours getting ready. I'd naively believed that if I looked beautiful enough, I'd deserve to stand beside him.
The gala dripped with money. The moment I stepped through those heavy antique doors on Lucas's arm, a thousand judging eyes pinned me down. Lucas felt me stiffen, but he only stared ahead and issued a cold warning, "Watch your posture, Ella. Don't forget you represent the Rockefeller name."
I'd mistaken that warning for intimacy. I told myself: I'm Lucas's woman. As long as Lucas is here, I'm safe.
But when the gala began and the men circled Lucas discussing hedge funds and acquisitions, I became meaningless background. The bejeweled society women dissected me with their eyes, weighing and measuring, then whispered loud enough for me to hear.
"I heard she's from a sanatorium? Hands that wiped dying bodies get to hold Saint Louis crystal?"
"God, I wouldn't touch anything she's used. Who knows what she's carrying?"
Their laughter pierced like needles. I gripped my champagne flute. I kept telling myself: I'm Lucas's legal wife. I have every right to be here.
Until the doors opened again and Vivian appeared. Everything changed.
Vivian was breathtaking. Every eye turned. I felt Lucas's body go rigid. Then he did something that still chills me. He pulled his arm from mine.
I looked up, confused, and saw Lucas focused like never before.
Then he walked straight toward her.
He'd forgotten me entirely.
The women around me stopped hiding their voices.
That's how I learned Lucas and Vivian's history. She'd been his college girlfriend. She'd returned to Manhattan specifically to join Rockefeller Group.
Watching Lucas's retreating back, abandonment flooded through me. How could he leave me alone? Didn't he know I'd never been to events like this? That I'd practiced holding a wine glass for days?
I told myself: Don't be scared, Ella. Lucas is just greeting a new colleague. Just catch up to him. He's a man of principle. He promised Grandfather he'd take care of me.
I pushed through the crowd in heels high enough to snap my ankles. My heart hammered. Sweat slicked my palms. When I finally reached Lucas's side, that familiar safety returned.
Vivian's gaze landed on me like everyone else's. Embarrassed, I extended my hand out of basic courtesy. "Hello, I'm Ella. Lucas's wife."
Vivian raised an eyebrow. She touched two fingers to mine briefly, then immediately withdrew.
I froze.
"I've heard about you," she said in an odd tone. "Lucas's... pragmatic choice."
Pragmatic choice?
The phrase sounded strange. Was she complimenting me? Or...
But her smile unsettled me. Too perfect. So perfect I couldn't read any genuine emotion. I searched her eyes for kindness or friendliness. Nothing.
Humiliation rose inside me.
I looked to Lucas for help, hoping he'd say something—even just introduce me properly. But he only glanced at me coldly, eyes full of irritation at being interrupted.
Then he turned back to Vivian with a cheerfulness I'd never heard. "Vivian, on behalf of Rockefeller Group, welcome back."
His joy was naked. Vivian smiled and embraced him, their cheeks touching. Her slender hands settled on his arm—the position that had been mine minutes before.
I stood frozen as the society women's earlier whispers echoed in my head:
"If Vivian hadn't gone abroad to study, how would a caregiver ever have gotten in?"
"The real Mrs. Rockefeller was always Vivian. Only Vivian."
I shrank into a corner, watching Lucas and Vivian move through the crowd with effortless grace.
The phrase kept surfacing: a match made in heaven.
The chemistry between Vivian and Lucas was something Lucas and I had never shared.
To preserve my last shred of dignity, I forced myself to stay until the end.
Three hours. He never looked back.
Not once.
When I finally walked to the entrance on stiff legs, Lucas was opening a car door for Vivian. He noticed me approach. The smile vanished.
"I still have work details to discuss with Vivian. Go home yourself."
"But Lucas, it's past midnight..." I wasn't trying to cause trouble, but I'd dressed lightly for the gala. I was freezing.
"Call the manor driver," Lucas cut me off coldly. "You're an adult. Learn to solve your own problems."
He shut the door and drove off with Vivian. Red taillights disappeared into the night. I stood alone on the crowded street as gossip rushed in from all sides. Louder this time. More vicious. Like kicking a dog in the water.
"Of course he ditched her..."
"Gold digger. Serves her right."
"Mr. Rockefeller's gone senile. No wonder Lucas hates him."
The guests dispersed. Finally quiet. The midnight street cut to the bone. I waited alone. Drunk men undressed me with their eyes. By the time the manor driver arrived, I was nearly unconscious from the cold.
That night back at the manor, I spiked a high fever.
In my dreams, those women's laughter looped endlessly. But what truly suffocated me was the image of Lucas leaving with Vivian.
I was still newly married then. I didn't understand why my husband treated me this way.
Fighting through the illness, I called him over and over, sent long texts.
All of it disappeared into silence. Worse, he didn't come home for days.
I didn't know what he was doing or who he was with.
My rage had nowhere to go except inward.
After I recovered, I finally understood clearly—I could never become the woman beside Lucas, never fit into high society. Forcing myself across class lines only invited worse humiliation. From then on, galas triggered a physical fear response.
Lucas noticed my retreat. As if he'd been waiting for exactly that, he gave the position that should have been mine at events to Vivian. Naturally.
A thunderclap jerked me back to the present.
My face felt strange. I touched it. My palm came away wet with tears.
When had I become this pathetic? To squeeze into Lucas's world, I'd destroyed my own life.
I'd quit Saint Heart Sanatorium—the only place I'd excelled, the only place that let me hold my head high.
I'd betrayed patients who trusted me, abandoned work that earned me real respect.
I'd stupidly believed that even if he didn't love me, as long as I fulfilled my duties as Mrs. Rockefeller, I could at least keep him near.
But now?
I was trapped in this empty manor, watching my husband run to another woman's arms.
I didn't even have the right to question him.
How ridiculous.
I had no strength left to pretend this rotten marriage could be saved.
I unplugged my charging phone and opened a contact.
Dialed.
I gripped the phone, body shaking.
"Logan Law Firm, how may I help you?" A man's polite, professional voice.
My nails dug into my palm, forcing myself to speak. "Mr. Logan, this is Ella. We met last year when your family member was hospitalized at Saint Heart Sanatorium."
He was clearly surprised but quickly adjusted his tone. "I remember you. Mrs. Rockefeller, who donated supplies to the sanatorium."
Mrs. Rockefeller.
The title slapped me across the face. Was I Mrs. Rockefeller? No. I was Lucas's pragmatic choice. A tool to placate his grandfather.
"I want a divorce," I heard myself say calmly. "How fast can it happen?"
Silence on the other end.
"Mrs. Rockefeller... are you certain? A divorce at this level would be extremely complex, take a very long time..."
"As long as it's fast, I'll accept anything," my voice held no hesitation. "I'll accept walking away with nothing."
Thunder raged outside, lightning tearing through the sky.
Once I left here, I'd never again wait for a man who would never answer my calls.