Chapter 8
The phone rang just as I was sipping my coffee by the window, the pale morning sun spilling over the snow–covered rooftops of Switzerland. I picked up without hesitation.
“Aurora?” I asked softly.
Her familiar voice came through, warm and calm. “It’s done, Hayley. Everything. You’re free now.”
I inhaled slowly, letting the moment settle into my bones.
Free. It still felt unreal.
“I can’t believe it,” I murmured. “I woke up this morning and… it didn’t feel heavy. Just quiet.”
“The quiet is peace, darling,” Aurora said gently. “It’s what you’ve always deserved.”
the quiet
I stepped outside onto the balcony. The wind kissed my face, cool and fresh. Below me, town stretched along the hillside, charming and untouched–my new beginning.
Aurora and her people had made the arrangements flawlessly. A new identity. A new apartment. Safety. A chance to live again.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You won’t need to,” Aurora said gently on the other end. “You’ve paid more than enough already Hayley. Just live well. Live free. Let that be your revenge. Let him suffer knowing he’ll never have you again.”
There was a long pause before I spoke again, quietly, “I’m sorry… that you had to cut off your own grandson for this. For me. I didn’t even know if I deserve to be treated like this. Sometimes I wonder if I really was at fault… if I ever-”
“Don’t,” she said sharply, her voice suddenly firm. “Don’t you dare question your worth, not after everything you’ve survived.”
I swallowed. “But he was your family.”
“And so were you,” she said. “Maybe not by blood, but by choice. You became my granddaughter the moment I saw the way you held onto your dignity while he tried to tear you apart.”
My heart squeezed.
“I didn’t think anyone would believe me,” I admitted.
“I always knew something was wrong,” Aurora said. “They tried to convince me you cheated, that you were ungrateful. But I watched, Hayley. I watched you shrink while he paraded that woman like a trophy. I stayed quiet for too long. That’s on me. But not anymore.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re doing all this for me…”
“Because I couldn’t protect my daughter from a cruel marriage,” she said softly. “And I won’t fail again. Blood doesn’t excuse cruelty. Jarren chose pain. He chose to destroy love–and now he can live with the consequences.”
I wiped a tear. “Even if one day… he changes?”
Aurora’s voice turned cold.
“He won’t. And even if he does–you do not go back. Even if he cries, begs, falls to his knees- don’t you dare go back. You owe him nothing.”
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“I won’t,” I whispered. “I promise.”
“Good,” she said. “Because you deserve a life that loves you back, Hayley. Nothing less.”
We talked for a few more minutes before saying goodbye. I promised to send her photos of the town and told her about the little bakery I’d passed yesterday. When we hung up, I sat for moment, just watching the snow fall.
Later, I checked the internet, curious if the world had moved on without me. Unsurprisingly, i
hadn’t.
I stumbled upon a video someone posted from my funeral. There was Jarren, dressed in black standing cold and still while fake tears glistened in his eyes. Elisa clung to him like a widow who’d won.
It was pathetic. All of it.
The lie in their performance was painfully obvious–at least to me. But it didn’t matter anymore That chapter was closed.
What I needed now was a purpose. I couldn’t spend every day sipping tea and staring at the Alps. My hands needed work. My heart needed something else to care about.
Cooking. It had always been my dream–to open a restaurant, to serve dishes that brought people joy. But Jarren had crushed that dream, sneering every time I mentioned it. “Your food’s average at best,” he once said. “Stick to being a wife. That’s hard enough for you.”
I swallowed the memory like bitter tea.
No more of that.
I dressed warmly, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and stepped out with a folder of resumes tucked under my arm. I visited a few restaurants, small cafés, even a hotel with a cozy kitchen and polite staff. Some took my resume. Some smiled politely and said they weren’t hiring. I didn’t mind. It felt good just to try again.
As the day wore on, I found myself walking without direction, eyes scanning windows for “Help Wanted” signs.
I was turning a corner when I collided with someone–hard.
“Oh-! I’m so sorry,” I gasped, stepping back quickly.
My resume folder dropped, scattering pages across the pavement. The man I’d bumped into bent down immediately to help me.
He was tall, strikingly handsome, with sharp blue eyes and a tailored coat that screamed wealth. Probably mid–thirties. Clean–cut, confident. He picked up one of the resumes and scanned it.
“You’re looking for a job?” he asked, his voice smooth, almost amused.
I blinked. “Uh… yes. I was just dropping off resumes. Mostly for cooking positions.”
He extended his hand. “That’s convenient. I’m actually in desperate need of a chef.”
There was something magnetic about him, but also… something familiar.
Scott Thompson. My breath hitched.
The name was infamous. He wasn’t just some wealthy businessman–he was the CEO of the Thompson Group, the long–time rival of the Smith family empire.
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And now fate had dropped me at his feet.
