7
738words
I was reviewing new company reports in the estate garden when Charles brought tea and shared recent Manhattan gossip.
"Mr. Fitzgerald..."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"...rented a small office space in the West Village last month. Trying to start over."
I lifted my teacup. Steam blurred my vision.
The West Village was full of scrappy startups. Cramped. Noisy.
A world away from his former penthouse office overlooking the city skyline.
"He seems... unable to adjust."
"Heard he can't drop the old airs. Still approaches clients like he's the king of Wall Street."
I pictured it.
Alexander in a suit, probably dry-cleaned one too many times, but the expensive cut still evident.
Sitting in a tiny conference room, facing clients pinching pennies over nickel-and-dime projects.
Projects worth mere thousands, hundreds of thousands – sums he'd once scoffed at.
He'd probably still radiate that "Alexander Fitzgerald" entitlement.
But those hands, once signing billion-dollar deals, now haggling over scraps.
He wasn't the hungry, driven student anymore.
Time had worn down his grit. The habits and pride cultivated by luxury were now his heaviest chains.
He couldn't swallow his pride to beg. Couldn't stomach pity or condescension from those he'd once looked down on.
After a few rejections, that faint spark of a comeback... was likely just smoke.
Charles's tone held a hint of weary resignation.
"As for Miss Summers..."
"She... doesn't seem to grasp the situation. Constantly haranguing Mr. Fitzgerald. Demanding her old jewels, bags, insisting he take her to Michelin-starred joints."
The report mentioned Chloe couldn't process the plunge from cloud nine.
She was used to Alexander's money, his spoiling.
Blind to the exhaustion in his eyes, the dwindling numbers in his bank account.
She only complained about the cramped apartment, the lack of a chauffeur, the inability to flaunt new trinkets online.
She nagged him, cried, demanded.
"You promisedI'd always live like this!"
"Do something!"
"I didn't sign up for this!"
These words, no doubt, echoed in Alexander's ears day and night, more suffocating than any business rival.
The fragile foundation of his new life, built for his "true love," was constantly shaken, eroded by the woman he'd elevated.
The health he sacrificed, the dignity he shed... bought him not solace, but relentless demands. The final straw.
I set down my cup, watching the camellias bloom in the garden.
Alexander probably never imagined that the "true love" he'd traded a decade for, betrayed his vows for...
Would look so ugly without the golden filter.
And the marriage, the responsibility he saw as shackles... were the very bedrock that lifted him to those heights.
Remove that foundation?
He and his so-called love plummeted into this cold, hard reality.
I brushed a fallen petal from the financial report.
This ending was written the moment he chose to shield Chloe, letting her carve those three words onto my heart on our seventh anniversary.
I saw Alexander again a month later.
At a Manhattan charity gala. I'd just finished discussing a green energy deal with Mr. Lee when I turned and saw him.
Standing alone in a corner. His suit neat, but cuffs showing wear.
He hesitated, then walked over as I noticed him.
"Victoria."
"Can we talk? Privately?"
I checked my watch. "Five minutes."
He followed me to the terrace, gripping the railing, knuckles white.
"I know how ridiculous this sounds now."
"But I don't want you misunderstanding. Helping Chloe at first... it was because she reminded me of my younger self. Remember? I hauled cement in college too."
He turned, his eyes earnest.
"Later, she'd stay late at the studio, bring me homemade lunches. Once, it rained, she was soaked... I felt sorry for her..."
"So you slept with her out of pity?" I cut him off, impatient.
"No! Not like that."
"She... initiated it. You were away. She called crying, scared of thunder, begged me to come. I drank too much... woke up and she was..."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"...in your bed?"
"How original."
Alexander paled.
"I know it sounds like excuses. But I regret it every single day. She's nothing like you. She only cares about my money..."
I was done listening. My scorn was plain.
"Enough."
"Time's up."
As I turned, Alexander's usually straight posture slumped.
He grabbed my wrist, eyes red-rimmed. "Victoria, give me another chance. Please?"
I gently pulled free. My voice was iron.
"No."
