Chapter 6: the vows of fire
1754 Words
"We get in, we get your stuff, we get out," Harper said as the car pulled up. "Ten minutes max. You don't engage, you don't argue, you don't explain anything. Understand?"
I nodded, but I wasn't sure I could follow through. Part of me wanted to scream at him. To demand answers. To ask how he could do this to me.
The other part of me wanted to burn the whole building down.
The doorman, Miguel, looked uncomfortable when he saw us. "Ms. Carter. I... good morning."
"Morning, Miguel." I kept my voice steady. Professional. Like this was just another day.
The elevator ride up felt different than last night. Last night I'd been in shock, numb, operating on autopilot. Now, in the harsh morning light, everything felt too real. Too sharp.
The doors opened.
I could hear voices before we even reached the apartment door. Ethan's voice. And someone else. Female. Not Layla.
Harper and I exchanged glances. She mouthed "who?"
I shook my head, pulled out my keys, and opened the door.
The scene that greeted us was almost domestic. Ethan was at the kitchen table, laptop open, phone pressed to his ear. And sitting across from him, coffee in hand like she belonged there, was Layla.
But it wasn't her presence that made my blood run cold.
It was the way they looked. Comfortable. Natural. Like they'd done this a thousand times before.
Like this was normal.
Ethan looked up, saw us, and his expression cycled through surprise, annoyance, and finally settling on calculated concern.
"Beth... Violet. I didn't know you were coming back."
"It's my apartment," I said flatly. "I don't need permission."
Layla stood up, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. She looked small, vulnerable. Deliberately so. "Violet, I was hoping we could talk..."
"No." I walked past her toward the bedroom. "We have nothing to talk about."
"Please." She followed me. "Just five minutes. I need you to understand..."
"Understand what?" I spun around, and she actually flinched. Good. "Understand how you accidentally fell into bed with my husband? Understand how you just happened to be in my home, in my living room, on my anniversary couch?"
"It wasn't like that," she said, and her eyes were filling with tears. Crocodile tears. Practiced tears. "He pursued me. For months. He said you two were basically over. That you were cold, distant. That he was lonely."
I looked at Ethan. He had the decency to look uncomfortable.
"That's interesting," I said slowly. "Because he never mentioned being unhappy. In fact, just last week, he told me he loved me. That he couldn't imagine his life without me. Was that before or after he was pursuing you?"
Ethan stood up. "Violet, you're twisting things. If we could just sit down and discuss this like adults..."
"Like adults?" Harper's laugh was sharp. "You want to talk about being adults? Adults don't f**k their wife's sister. Adults don't gaslight and manipulate and lie."
"This doesn't concern you, Harper," Ethan said, and his voice had gone cold. That professional tone he used when he wanted to intimidate someone. "This is between me and my wife."
"Your wife who you betrayed," Harper shot back. "Your wife who's currently trending on Twitter because your mistress posted a sob story about being a victim."
Something flickered across Ethan's face. He glanced at Layla. She had the grace to look guilty.
"You posted about this?" Ethan's voice was tight. "On social media?"
"I had to," Layla said quickly. "People were already talking. I needed to control the narrative before..."
"Before I could tell the truth?" I finished for her. "Before I could show everyone what you really are?"
Her expression hardened. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to see past the tears and the victim act to the calculation underneath.
"What I really am?" Her voice changed. Dropped the trembling, vulnerable tone. "And what's that, Violet? Your little stepsister who was never good enough? Who lived in your shadow her whole life while everyone praised perfect Violet?"
There it was. The truth she'd been hiding under all that fake remorse.
"You're jealous," I said softly. "You've always been jealous."
"Of course I was jealous!" The words exploded out of her. "You had everything! Dad loved you more, even though I was there too. You got the company shares. You got the trust fund. You got the perfect husband, the perfect career, the perfect life. And I got nothing. I was always second best. Always the afterthought."
"So you decided to take what was mine." I was surprised by how calm I sounded. How clear. "You decided that the only way to win was to destroy me."
"I didn't..." She stopped herself. Looked at Ethan. Then back at me. And something in her expression shifted. Hardened. "You know what? Maybe I did. Maybe I'm tired of being the backup. The consolation prize. Maybe it's my turn to have something good."
"Layla." Ethan's voice held a warning. "Stop talking."
But she couldn't stop. Now that she'd started, it was all pouring out.
"You act so superior," she continued, stepping closer to me. "So above it all. But you never saw him. Not really. You were always working, always busy, always putting your career first. He was lonely, Violet. And I was there. I listened to him. I made him feel important."
"By sleeping with him."
"By loving him!" Her face was flushed now, eyes bright with something that looked almost manic. "Something you clearly weren't doing or he wouldn't have come to me."
The slap happened before I knew I was going to do it.
My palm connected with her cheek with a crack that echoed through the apartment. She stumbled back, hand flying to her face, shock written across her features.
"Violet!" Ethan moved toward me, but Harper was there, physically putting herself between us.
"Don't even think about it," Harper said, her voice deadly quiet.
I was shaking. Staring at my hand like it belonged to someone else. I'd never hit anyone before. Never lost control like that.
But God, it had felt good.
"You need to leave," Ethan said, and now his voice was hard. Angry. "Both of you. Get out of my home."
"Your home?" I laughed, and the sound was unhinged even to my own ears. "You mean the home we bought together? The home I helped pay for? The home you defiled with her?"
"I'm calling security," he said, reaching for his phone.
"Don't bother." I walked past him into the bedroom, started pulling open drawers. My documents. My mother's jewelry. The things that were mine, that he had no claim to. "I'm getting what's mine and I'm leaving. And Ethan?"
I turned to face him, arms full of my belongings.
"I'm getting a lawyer. The best lawyer money can buy. And when I'm done, you're going to wish you'd never met me."
His face went pale. "Are you threatening me?"
"No." I smiled, and it was all teeth. "I'm making you a promise. You wanted to destroy me? Congratulations. You've created your worst enemy."
I walked past both of them, Harper right behind me, and started loading things into my suitcase. Photo albums my father had given me. Documents from the company. My grandmother's rings. Anything that mattered, anything that was irreplaceable.
Layla was still standing in the living room, hand pressed to her cheek, tears streaming down her face. Real tears this time, I thought. Tears of pain and shock and the dawning realization that maybe, just maybe, she'd pushed too far.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as I passed. "Violet, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean..."
"Yes," I said quietly, stopping to look at her. Really look at her. "You did. You meant every word. You wanted to hurt me, and you did. Congratulations, Layla. You got what you wanted."
I pulled out my phone, opened the camera app, and pulled up the photo from last night. The one I'd taken before they'd seen me. The one that showed exactly what they'd been doing.
"But so did I," I said, turning the screen toward her.
Her face went white.
"You wouldn't," Ethan said, but his voice wavered.
"Watch me." I looked between them, these two people who'd betrayed me. "You posted your side of the story. Now it's my turn. And unlike you, Layla, I have proof."
"If you post that," Ethan said carefully, "I'll sue you for defamation. For invasion of privacy. For..."
"For what?" Harper cut in. "For documenting the truth? Good luck with that."
"This will destroy you," Layla said, and she sounded desperate now. Panicked. "It'll destroy both of us. The media will..."
"I don't care." And I realized, saying it out loud, that it was true. I didn't care anymore. Not about my reputation, not about what people thought, not about protecting them from the consequences of their own actions. "You should have thought about that before you decided to f**k my husband in my home."
I zipped up the suitcase, took one last look around the apartment. At the couch. At the kitchen where I'd made countless breakfasts. At the bedroom where I'd slept beside a man I thought I knew.
"I'll be back for the rest of my things," I said. "With movers. And lawyers. And you're going to give me everything I'm entitled to, Ethan. Every penny. Every share. Everything."
"Like hell I am," he said.
"Then I'll see you in court." I headed for the door. "And trust me when I say, you're going to lose. Because I'm not the woman you married anymore. That woman died the moment I walked in on you. This woman? She's someone you should be very, very afraid of."
I walked out, Harper beside me, leaving them standing there in the wreckage of what they'd done.
In the elevator, Harper grabbed my hand and squeezed.
"That," she said, grinning, "was perfect. Absolutely perfect."
"I slapped her," I said, still processing it. "I actually hit her."
"She deserved it. They both did." Harper's phone buzzed. "Oh. Marcus Hale's office just called back. They had a cancellation. Can you be there in an hour?"
I looked at her. At my fierce, loyal, perfect best friend.
"Yes," I said. "Let's go destroy them."
The elevator doors opened to the lobby. Miguel looked up, saw my face, and quickly looked away.
Smart man.
Because Violet Carter was done being the victim.
Violet Carter was going to war.
- Writer
