Chapter 6
BETH
The first light of morning seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline waking slowly with me still lying awake beside him.
The penthouse was as silent as the night before had been loud in my head.
I slid out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him.
It wasn’t the first time I’d done this, sneaking away into the early hours when the city below felt like the only thing alive in our home.
The soft pad of my bare feet was the only sound as I walked across the living room, wrapping a silk robe around me, and perching on the edge of the sofa to watch the sun rise over Seattle.
My gaze drifted over the expensive art that lined the walls, the modern furniture that had been perfectly arranged by some designer Chris had hired when we first moved in.
None of it felt like home anymore. Not the sleek marble countertops in the kitchen, the black-and-white minimalist décor, or even the massive walk-in closet filled with clothes I barely touched.
This was a life I had stepped into, thinking it was the next logical progression for us, but I was beginning to see the cracks forming, not just in the walls but in me.
I glanced toward the bedroom, half expecting Chris to wake and join me.
He didn’t. I could imagine him lying there, lost in his world of meetings and deals, already planning his next move.
Lately, it felt like I was just a prop in that world, something polished to show off to his business associates, a trophy wife in a penthouse, far removed from the life I used to want.
I thought about calling Lisa, my sister.
She’d listen, maybe even make me laugh, but she’d also ask me questions I didn’t have answers for, like why I continued to stay.
Why I kept putting myself through this cycle.
My hand hovered over my phone on the coffee table, but I let it fall.
Talking to her wouldn’t fix this. No one could fix it but me.
Sighing, I stood up and wandered to the kitchen.
The gleaming stainless-steel appliances, the pristine countertops, the custom-built island that I’d only ever used to prepare coffee, it all felt like a set piece.
I grabbed a cup of coffee, savoring the bitterness, and leaned against the counter.
This kitchen had been designed for entertaining, but I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had guests over who weren’t business associates.
Chris had made that choice for us long ago.
My thoughts drifted back to last night’s dinner, the way Jessica’s words had slipped like poison into the conversation.
She had smiled and laughed, making me feel invisible, and Chris hadn’t said a word in my defense.
He’d let her do it, had even joined in, in his own subtle way.
It stung more than I wanted to admit. Jessica wasn’t the real problem, though.
It was the space growing between me and Chris, one I couldn’t bridge no matter how hard I tried.
And it was the fact that I had never once told Chris how badly I wanted to return to the small town I once knew.
The thought had always hovered at the back of my mind, unspoken, a desire I had suppressed for years.
The morning light grew brighter as I stood there, sipping my coffee.
It wasn’t even eight yet, but I felt the weight of the entire day pressing down on me.
Another day of playing my role, pretending everything was fine.
But what would it look like if I wasn’t fine?
What would I do if I stopped pretending?
I looked around the kitchen again. Maybe it was time to make a change.
A real one, not the kind Chris would approve of, not the one that involved a new dress or another charity event.
Maybe it was time to go back to who I was before this life swallowed me whole.
I thought about the small house Lisa had back home, the cozy, familiar streets, the simplicity of a life that didn’t require a publicist to manage its image.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone home, hadn’t visited since last Thanksgiving.
I had almost forgotten that there was a time in my life when I wanted something else.
Before the luxury, the foundation, the gala events, I had once wanted to build something of my own, a place where people came first, not profits.
That dream had felt so out of reach since moving to Seattle.
It had been easier to let it go, to believe it was too ambitious for a small-town girl like me.
But now, as I stood alone in the penthouse, watching the city wake without me, I couldn’t ignore how badly I missed that version of myself, how much I wanted to reconnect with it again.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe, just maybe, I could find my way back to her.
And maybe this time, I wouldn’t have to do it alone.
I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do next, but as I set my empty coffee cup in the sink, a small spark of resolve began to flicker inside me. Something had to give, and I was no longer willing to let it be me.
The morning light grew stronger as I wandered back through the living room.
I glanced toward the bedroom door again.
Still closed, still quiet. He was probably going to wake up in an hour or so and get ready for his first meeting, just like any other day.
But I couldn’t just wait around for that to happen. Not anymore.
Instead, I turned toward my small office.
I hadn’t spent much time in there lately.
It had become a room filled with things I used to care about, now buried under papers from the foundation.
But I knew there was a box tucked away in the back of the closet, one I hadn’t opened in years.
My fingers grazed the handle, hesitating only a second before pulling it out and setting it on my desk.
The dust on top was thick enough to make me sneeze, but inside, the box contained remnants of my old life, a time before Chris, before the penthouse and the galas and the polished image I wore like a second skin.
I lifted out a stack of notebooks, the kind I used to carry everywhere back home.
They were filled with my ideas, my sketches, my plans for what I had wanted my life to be before everything changed.
I flipped through them, a faint smile tugging at my lips as I saw the familiar scrawl of my handwriting.
These pages had once been my lifeline. They held dreams of starting a non-profit, a small business where I could give back, where I could help people without the pressure of being someone I wasn’t.
A place where I could connect with people on my own terms, without the constant scrutiny of being Chris Lewis’s wife.
There were detailed notes on everything from budgets to location ideas, lists of potential partners and names of local businesses I wanted to involve.
One notebook, thicker than the rest, contained a plan I had been particularly proud of.
It was a food cooperative that would serve the surrounding communities, a place where people could get fresh, affordable groceries without having to travel far.
I remembered pouring hours into it, calculating every detail.
It had seemed impossible at the time, too big for someone like me. But I had been determined.
I sat back in my chair, the notebook open in front of me.
The idea felt just as distant now as it had back then, but something about it stirred a fire in me that I hadn’t felt in years.
It was a small-town dream, simple and achievable in its own way, but I had let myself believe it was out of reach.
That wasn’t Chris’s fault; I had let go of it myself, convinced that a bigger life meant a better one.
But the truth was, this plan, this idea, it felt more real to me than anything I had done in Seattle. It wasn’t about impressing anyone, and it wasn’t about status. It was about creating something tangible, something that could make a difference in people’s lives in a way that mattered.
“Morning, Beth.” Chris’s voice came from the doorway, startling me. He stood there, freshly showered, his tie hanging loosely around his neck.
I closed the notebook quickly, trying to act casual. “Good morning,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended.
He walked in, his eyes scanning the mess on my desk. “What’s all this?” he asked, picking up one of the notebooks.
My heart pounded as I watched him flip through the pages. “Just some old ideas,” I said, not meeting his eyes.
Chris let out a quiet laugh, a small smile tugging at his lips. “This was your co-op thing, right? The one you used to talk about.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, feeling strangely defensive. “It was a long time ago.”
He set the notebook down and came to stand beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve come a long way since then,” he said gently, though there was something in his tone that made me pause. Was he proud? Or was this another reminder of how different my life had become?
“Yeah, I guess,” I said quietly, unsure of what to say. The silence that followed was heavy, like there was a conversation neither of us knew how to have.
Finally, Chris broke it. “Listen, about last night.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I wasn’t there for you. Jessica can be a little intense sometimes.”
I stared at the closed notebook on my desk, the pages full of my forgotten dreams. “It’s fine,” I lied. But it wasn’t. And we both knew it.
He sighed, his hand sliding down to rest on the back of my chair.
“Beth, you know this life comes with certain expectations, right? The dinners, the foundation, everything... It’s not easy, but it’s who we are now.
” There it was again. The subtle suggestion that I should be okay with it, that this was just the way things were.