Chapter 4: The Cottage and the Sunrise

Derek left with his entourage. I heard the crunch of gravel as he and his friends climbed into their cars—laughing, music blaring, like nothing had happened. The sound of his Maserati echoed through the neighborhood, drowning out the crickets.

The roar of his engine was especially loud in the night. I watched from the porch as his taillights disappeared. The night felt even quieter once the last engine faded.

The house manager sighed beside me. "Ma’am, why rile up Mr. Langley again? You know he holds a grudge."

Jeff lingered, worry etched on his face. He looked more like a family friend than an employee. "You sure you want to do this, Miss Natalie?"

I picked up the ring at my feet and tossed it in the trash can. The metal clinked against the empty bin, louder than I expected. It felt good—definitive.

"Uncle Jeff, go on with your work. Don’t worry about me."

He hesitated, then nodded, patting my shoulder before heading inside. His footsteps echoed up the stairs, leaving me truly alone in the big house for the first time.

I went upstairs alone and changed out of the fancy dress. The silk pooled on the closet floor. I pulled on my oldest college T-shirt and jeans—comfort over style for once.

I packed my suitcase with all the clothes that were definitely mine—favorite sneakers, a few paperbacks, my mother’s locket. Anything that reminded me of Derek stayed behind.

Most couples would have to talk about a divorce settlement. But Derek and I had nothing binding us—just a pair of rings and a shared history that felt like it belonged to someone else.

No one would have guessed that the wedding that once made headlines—the bride and groom didn’t even have a marriage license. Atlanta’s biggest wedding, all for show. I remembered smiling for the cameras, knowing the paperwork was missing.

He’d whispered at the wedding, his voice so low only I could hear. Even with hundreds of guests watching, he never let me forget the truth. "On my paperwork, only Lila’s name belongs. Natalie, you never should have married me."

That line was a knife—cold, deliberate. But I smiled for the photos anyway, swallowing the hurt.

But what could I do? I was an orphan, a foster kid plucked from nowhere, offered the world and told to never expect love. I still married him—the man I’d loved for seven years since I was a teenager.

I remembered doodling his name in my diary at fifteen, believing love would conquer everything. I clung to that hope even as it faded.

I thought that one day, I could win his heart. If I tried hard enough—if I was perfect enough—he’d finally see me. But in the end, I became Mrs. Langley in name only, just like everyone said.

Dragging my suitcase out, the whole house was quiet. The emptiness felt different now—less threatening, more like freedom. My footsteps echoed on the marble as I closed the door softly behind me.

Just like that rainy night when Grandma Carol brought me here. I remembered the smell of wet leaves, the thunder rolling overhead. The first time I saw the Langley mansion, I thought I’d landed in a fairy tale.

Thirteen-year-old Derek stood on the stairs, looking at me coldly. He was taller than I’d expected, with a scowl that promised trouble. He watched me like I was an unwelcome guest, not a new sister.

But then he turned and went to the kitchen. I heard clinking dishes and the hum of the fridge. For a moment, I thought he’d left for good. He brought me a cup of warm milk. He handed it over without a word, eyes averted. I took it, hands shaking. It was the smallest kindness, but it stayed with me for years.