“I’m sorry, Mrs Reynard, but it appears that your bank account has been frozen.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I stood in the doorway and stared at Mr Wallace in confusion as he handed me back the cheque I’d issued him just this morning. I’d managed to get a small apartment in the village, and the owner almost fell over his feet when I arrived here last night, looking for a place to stay. He recognised me immediately as Marcus Reynard’s wife, and he couldn’t wait to give me the apartment. In hindsight, maybe I should have gone for a hotel. But I didn’t want to go anywhere that would attract too much attention. And almost every hotel in Manhattan knew exactly who I was. A small, modest apartment should have been the best option.
But somehow, Marcus had frozen my account already.
“I’m so sorry,” Mr Wallace said, almost as if he was ashamed to even look up at me. “Surely there must have been some kind of mistake.”
I nodded absentmindedly as a hollow feeling settled in my chest. Marcus. This had his name written all over it. How did he manage to freeze my account so quickly? The bastard must have known I would need to withdraw some money, and he did this to spite me. I should have seen this coming.
“Hold on,” I said, heading back inside and grabbing my purse. My other chequebook is still there, the one for the savings account I never use since most of my expenses are taken care of. Or at least they were.
“Here you go,” I said, handing a new cheque to the building manager. “I’m sure there shouldn’t be any problem.”
“Of course,” he said, though he still didn’t meet my gaze. As he hurried off while holding the cheque up and staring at it, I shut the door and leaned against it, barely able to see in front of me. I’d cried all through last night, but now I couldn’t even bring myself to cry anymore. I just felt hollow, like a part of me had been ripped out and it would never be replaced. I didn’t want to sit there and mourn a marriage which was never real in the first place.
“Pull yourself together, Olivia,” I whispered. “You’ve got this. He’s the one who cheated, not you.”
So why did it hurt so much?
No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that this wasn’t my fault, I just couldn’t help but feel like I did something wrong. Maybe if I had been a better wife, more attentive or more caring, then it wouldn’t have turned out this way.
I’d put my entire life on hold for Marcus’s sake. I stopped looking for a job when we got engaged, because he told me that it wouldn’t look good to his rivals if his wife was working somewhere. He assured me that I would be well taken care of, and that I didn’t need to pursue my career anymore.
But now, I was back to square one. I had no job, no house, and only a few bucks left to my name. Everything was tied down by Marcus, and he would definitely use that against me. My only consolation was the fact that once the divorce was finalised, I would get a hefty settlement and I would be able to start my life afresh.
I hated feeling this way, like a leech who was desperately waiting for hand-me-downs from my ex. I hated the fact that even though I’d packed up and left him now, my future was still in his hands. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
My phone suddenly started to ring, and I dragged myself up and headed into the room. The entire apartment was smaller than the living room of the penthouse, with a single room, a tiny kitchen and a bathroom that didn’t have any hot water (I learned that the hard way this morning). Nevertheless, I overlooked all this as I grabbed my phone and sat by the windowsill.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Liv.”
I froze at the sound of Emily’s voice, and I almost threw my phone out into the street. How dare she call me right now? Was she calling to rub salt in my wounds? To laugh at me and remind me of my current situation?
