Chapter 4 - Walking Away Clean
The following morning brought the cold clarity of reality. Eleanor stood in the penthouse she had once called home, packing two modest suitcases. She deliberately left behind the designer jewelry, the heavy fur coats, and the luxury handbags Richard had bought her as apologies for his outbursts. They were gilded chains, and she wanted none of them.
Richard barged through the master bedroom door, smelling of scotch and sour defeat. His tie was undone, his collar crooked, the tattoos on his neck flushed angry red.
"You really think you're walking out with your head held high?" he sneered, leaning against the doorframe. "You have no portfolio. No corporate references. You gave up your early twenties playing house. What are you going to do, Eleanor? Beg on street corners?"
Eleanor clicked the latch of her vintage leather suitcase shut. She smoothed down her simple navy trousers and white blouse, turning to face him without a flicker of fear.
"I gave five years of my life trying to fill a hole in your heart that was never my responsibility to fix," she said evenly. "I kept your home, smoothed your PR disasters, and absorbed your rage so your staff wouldn't quit. I worked every single day, Richard. The only difference is, starting today, I work for myself."
"You'll crawl back within a month," Richard barked, slamming his fist against the mahogany frame. "Nobody hires an unproven nobody!"
May you like
"Watch me," she whispered.
She picked up her bags and walked past him. She didn't look back at the chandelier, the imported Italian furniture, or the hollow luxury. When the front door clicked shut behind her, the air in the hallway tasted sweeter than anything she had known in years.
