Page 12 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
"Call the manor driver," Lucas cut me off coldly. "You're an adult. Learn to solve your own problems."
He shut the door and drove off with Vivian. Red taillights disappeared into the night. I stood alone on the crowded streetas gossip rushed in from all sides. Louder this time. More vicious. Like kicking a dog in the water.
"Of course he ditched her..."
"Gold digger. Serves her right."
"Mr. Rockefeller's gone senile. No wonder Lucas hates him."
The guests dispersed. Finally quiet. The midnight street cut to the bone. I waited alone. Drunk men undressed me with their eyes. By the time the manor driver arrived, I was nearly unconscious from the cold.
That night back at the manor, I spiked a high fever.
In my dreams, those women's laughter looped endlessly. But what truly suffocated me was the image of Lucas leaving with Vivian.
I was still newly married then. I didn't understand why my husband treated me this way. Fighting through the illness, I called him over and over, sent long texts. All of it disappeared into silence. Worse, he didn't come home for days. I didn't know what he was doing or who he was with. My rage had nowhere to go except inward.
After I recovered, I finally understood clearly—I could never become the woman beside Lucas, never fit into high society. Forcing myself across class lines only invited worse humiliation. From then on, galas triggered a physical fear response.
Lucas noticed my retreat. As if he'd been waiting for exactly that, he gave the position that should have been mine at events to Vivian. Naturally.
A thunderclap jerked me back to the present.
My face felt strange. I touched it. My palm came away wet with tears.
When had I become this pathetic? To squeeze into Lucas's world, I'd destroyed my own life. I'd quit Saint Heart Sanatorium—the only place I'd excelled, the only place that let me hold my head high. I'd betrayed patients who trustedme, abandoned work that earned me real respect. I'd stupidly believed that even if he didn't love me, as long as I fulfilled my duties as Mrs. Rockefeller, I could at least keep him near.
But now?
I was trapped in this empty manor, watching my husband run to another woman's arms.
I didn't even have the right to question him.
How ridiculous.
I had no strength left to pretend this rotten marriage could be saved.
I unplugged my charging phone and opened a contact.
Dialed.
I gripped the phone, body shaking.
"Logan Law Firm, how may I help you?" A man's polite, professional voice.
My nails dug into my palm, forcing myself to speak. "Mr. Logan, this is Ella. We met last year when your family member was hospitalized at Saint Heart Sanatorium."
He was clearly surprised but quickly adjusted his tone. "I remember you. Mrs. Rockefeller, who donated supplies to the sanatorium."
Mrs. Rockefeller.
The title slapped me across the face. Was I Mrs. Rockefeller? No. I was Lucas's pragmatic choice. A tool to placate his grandfather.
"I want a divorce," I heard myself say calmly. "How fast can it happen?"
Silence on the other end.
"Mrs. Rockefeller... are you certain? A divorce at this level would be extremely complex, take a very long time..."
