No Longer His Ghost: My Life Begins

Cassie Baird POV: Blake stood at the foot of our king-sized bed, carelessly tossing his five-hundred-dollar silk tie onto the duvet. He started unbuttoning his tailored shirt, his movements rigid with the entitlement of a man who believed the world revolved entirely around his comfort. I stepped into the room and pushed the heavy door shut. I turned the deadbolt. The loud, metallic click echoed over the sound of the rain hitting the windows. Blake stopped unbuttoning his shirt. He looked at the locked door, then at me, his brow furrowing in deep annoyance. "Why are you locking the door? I told you I'm exhausted." I didn't answer. I walked straight toward him, closing the distance until I was standing inches away. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and held up the black USB drive. The metal casing caught the harsh light of the overhead recessed bulbs. Blake's pupils contracted into tiny black pinpricks. The mask of bored arrogance slipped, revealing a split second of pure, naked panic. But he recovered instantly. His jaw tightened, his eyes turning to chips of blue ice. "You went digging through my study?" I looked at his face. Not a single ounce of guilt. Just anger that his property had been touched. I let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Is that really your only question?" He stepped forward, using his height to tower over me, projecting a physical threat. "Give that to me." I didn't step back. I tilted my head and looked him dead in the eye. "The password is 0814. Isabelle's birthday. Hundreds of photos. And millions of dollars in wire transfers to Paris." His face darkened into something monstrous. He lunged forward, his large hand snapping out like a viper. He ripped the USB out of my fingers, his nails scraping my skin. I let him take it. I just stood there, watching the pathetic display. Blake gripped the drive in his fist. He squared his shoulders, his voice dropping into a cold, corporate monotone. "Since you've seen it, I'll be clear. It's just past memories. The money is a charitable grant for an old friend." He actually reached up and adjusted his collar, smoothing the fabric. "You are still Mrs. Baird. Nothing changes, as long as you know your place." I stared at the man I had shared a bed with for five years. He was a monster. I felt a sudden, intense wave of disgust that made my skin crawl. Blake looked down at the USB. He placed both thumbs in the center and snapped it in half. The plastic cracked loudly. He dropped the broken pieces onto the expensive Persian rug and kicked them under the bed with the toe of his leather shoe. He thought destroying the physical object would destroy the problem. He thought I was still the obedient little wife who would swallow her tongue. He walked over to the crystal decanter on the dresser and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He took a sip. "This conversation is over. Never mention her name again." I looked at the spot on the rug where the drive had been. I didn't feel panic. I felt an overwhelming, intoxicating rush of liberation. I took a step backward, putting physical distance between my body and his, as if he were carrying a disease. My voice was perfectly steady, cutting through the quiet room like a blade. "I want a divorce." Blake froze. The glass stopped halfway to his mouth. He slowly turned his head, his eyes wide with genuine disbelief. He lowered the glass and let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "A divorce? Cassie, have you forgotten who gave you the life you have?" He gestured wildly to the massive bedroom, the custom furniture, the glittering skyline outside. "Without me, you couldn't even afford rent in Manhattan!" I didn't blink. "I was a top architectural designer before I met you. You used this marriage to break my wings." Blake let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He looked at me like I was a hysterical child. "You're acting entirely on emotion. I'm not doing this tonight." He walked past me into the walk-in closet and grabbed a dark wool overcoat. "I'm sleeping at a hotel. You better be calm and rational by the time I get back tomorrow." I stood perfectly still, watching him retreat. The heavy front door of the penthouse slammed shut, shaking the walls. "He just left. Make the terms harsher."