She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 4

(Natasha)

The door clicks shut as Chase steps back into the office.

The air tightens, like something invisible has been pulled taut across my skin.

He doesn’t bother sitting. He just stands there near the desk, looking down at me.

His eyes are empty of anything that even remotely resembles warmth.

“You met Sonia,” he says, “she wanted to get married, we will have the divorce after you give birth.”

Just like that.

No preamble. No attempt to soften the edges. He delivers the death sentence of our marriage with the exact same tone he uses when dissolving an underperforming asset.

I shrug.

The motion comes easily, which is ironic considering the chaos that had been tearing through my bloodstream barely an hour ago.

“Why wait?” I say. “I’m ready to do it now.”

For a moment, the room goes still.

It’s only a fraction of a second, but I catch it—the faint tightening of his jaw, the subtle narrowing of his eyes.

He isn’t used to this. He’s used to cruelty being met with silence, resistance, or pain. Not… agreement. And certainly not enthusiasm.

“No,” he says finally. His voice drops, settling into that familiar register of authority.

“After the birth.”

If keeping the ring on my swollen finger for a few more months helps some carefully calculated PR strategy of his, then fine. Let him have it.

A delay won’t magically resurrect our marriage. In my heart, it’s already been dead for quite some time.

“Fine,” I reply. “Have it your way. I don’t care.”

Leaving Warren Global feels like finally escaping a room with no oxygen.

The drive back to the estate is a necessary evil.

Earlier, I didn’t want to wrestle with luggage in front of Eleanor, so I left my things behind. Now I just need to collect them and find a hotel where I can disappear for a few days.

Simple. At least, that was the plan.

When I limp through the cavernous foyer, the house is quiet. But it isn’t the peaceful kind of quiet. It feels… expectant. Like the walls are waiting to see what I’ll do next.

I push open the door to the master suite. And immediately stop breathing.

The room is immaculate. My packed luggage is gone.

For a second, I just stand there, trying to process what I’m looking at.

Then I notice movement in the hallway. The housekeeper is lingering by the doorframe.

She’s trying to look neutral, but there’s a small, ugly smile twisting her thin lips. Her eyes gleam with the unmistakable satisfaction of someone who believes they’ve just witnessed a small but meaningful victory.

“Madam said to put everything back,” she explains. Her tone drips with artificial innocence.

Eleanor. Of course. She must think I’m trying to run off with things bought using Warren money.

The irony would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic.

Eleanor has never worked a single day in her life. She has absolutely no concept of what I brought into this marriage—or how much I personally contributed to the empire bearing her son’s name.

And she certainly has no idea how badly I want nothing to do with her entire revolting family anymore.

The housekeeper is still watching me. Practically vibrating with anticipation for a scene. Waiting for me to start dragging suitcases out of closets, sweating and crying while fighting a pointless war of attrition.

The thought is so absurd a laugh escapes before I can stop it.

It startles her instantly. Her smug smile falters.

“Oh,” I say sweetly, tilting my head. Then I give her the most cheerful, completely unhinged smile I can manage.

“Maybe she thinks Chase would like to wear it.”

Her confusion is immediate. I don’t wait for it to turn into comprehension.

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