Chapter 3

Scarlett POV

I was jolted awake by urgent pounding on my door.

Opening it, Thomas stood there holding his broken superhero toy, his face fierce.

"Bad woman, who told you to touch my Legos!"

He hurled the figure viciously at my legs.

The hard plastic edges struck my kneecap, pain drilling deep.

I looked down at the stepson at my feet.

Five years old, looking exactly like Jackson-like they'd been cut from the same mold.

The eyebrows, the nose, even that domineering expression were identical.

I still remembered when he was first brought home, all soft and cuddly.

Jackson found him too noisy and refused to hold him.

It was me who'd paced the room night after night with him in my arms, humming lullabies until he fell asleep.

His first word of "mama," his first steps, his first time using a spoon.

Every moment, I'd been there with him.

But from the day Phoebe returned to the country, everything changed.

It only took one piece of candy from Phoebe to earn a sweet "Thank you!"

Yet the full meals I'd spent hours preparing would only ever get a "This is disgusting."

"I didn't touch your Legos."

I bent down, picked up the broken figure, and held it out to him. "You broke this yourself yesterday."

"You're lying!"

Thomas slapped my hand away. "Auntie Phoebe said you broke it 'cause you were jealous her gift was better! You're a wicked witch!"

Wicked witch.

Since when did a five-year-old talk like that?

I didn't need to guess who'd put those words in his mouth.

I looked at his flushed little face and suddenly felt exhausted.

Too tired even to explain.

"Think whatever you want."

I stepped around him, heading downstairs to get water.

Thomas clearly hadn't expected this reaction from me.

In the past, whenever he threw a tantrum, I'd scramble to appease him, agreeing to all his unreasonable demands.

Being ignored made him instantly lose control.

He rushed at me and bit down hard on my calf.

His sharp baby teeth pierced through the fabric and into flesh.

I gasped in pain and instinctively pushed him.

It wasn't even that hard.

But Thomas threw himself backward, landing on his bottom, then let out an ear-splitting wail.

"Wahhh-Daddy! The bad woman hit me!"

The laughter downstairs cut off abruptly.

Urgent footsteps approached.

Jackson charged up the stairs, saw his son sitting on the floor crying, and me standing there watching coldly.

His expression darkened instantly.

"Scarlett, what are you doing?"

He strode over and shoved me aside, scooping Thomas into his arms.

The force was considerable.

I stumbled backward several steps, my lower back slamming into the stair railing. The pain made it hard to straighten up.

"She pushed me! She tried to push me down the stairs!"

Thomas burrowed into Jackson's embrace, pointing at me accusingly, crying his heart out.

"I didn't."

I steadied myself against the railing and looked at this father and son.

"You didn't?"

Jackson laughed coldly, his gaze landing on me full of disgust. "Thomas is only five. Would he lie? Scarlett, I never realized how vicious you were-you can't even tolerate a child?"

Vicious.

Can't tolerate.

So that's what I was in his mind.

Phoebe rushed upstairs then, looking anxious as she checked on Thomas.

"Did you get hurt? Let me see."

She wiped Thomas's tears while turning to look at me, her eyes full of reproach: "Scarlett, kids don't know better. You could just talk to him nicely. How could you get physical? What if he'd gotten seriously hurt..."

"Enough."

Jackson cut her off, standing up with Thomas in his arms.

He looked down at me from his height, like looking at a criminal.

"Apologize to Thomas."

I froze.

"I didn't do anything wrong. Why should I apologize?"

"Do I need to say it twice?"

Jackson's voice suppressed fury. "Apologize."

I looked into those cold eyes.

Five years of marriage, and in his eyes it apparently couldn't compare to one word from Phoebe's mouth, one lie from Thomas.

I suddenly smiled.

A light laugh.

"Fine."

I nodded, looking at Thomas's face, twisted slightly with smugness.

"I'm sorry."

As those words left my mouth, I felt something inside me break completely.

It was the last thread connecting me to this family.

Thomas huffed and turned his head away, ignoring me.

Jackson's expression eased slightly, though it remained unpleasant.

"Stay out of Thomas's sight for the next few days. Save him the annoyance."

With that, he carried his son downstairs with Phoebe.

A family of three.

What a harmonious picture their backs made.

I stood there, watching them disappear around the staircase.

The wound on my knee was still bleeding, the bite mark on my calf already bruising purple.

But I felt no pain at all.

I returned to my room and pulled the suitcase out from under the bed.

I opened the closet.

Most of the clothes inside were black, white, and gray-the style Jackson preferred.

He said bright colors made me look frivolous, that only muted tones suited the wife of a billionaire.

I didn't take any of them.

I only took a few pieces I'd bought before marriage, and that photo album hidden deepest in the closet.

I opened the album.

The first photo was our wedding picture.

In it, Jackson had his face set, brow slightly furrowed, looking quite unwilling.

And I smiled like an idiot, my eyes full of light.

That was me five years ago.

Back then I believed that if I just tried hard enough, loved him enough, this stone would eventually warm up.

Only now did I understand.

A stone can't be warmed.

Especially when that stone's heart already belonged to someone else.

I picked up scissors.

Following the photo's center line, snip.

That woman smiling with happiness and that cold man were completely separated.

I threw Jackson's half of the photo into the trash.

Only keeping the version of myself whose eyes held light.

Though that light had now gone out.

But I would relight it.

Somewhere without Jackson.