NovelNext Chapter 7: The Final Thirty Days
Chapter 7: The Final Thirty Days
In the end, I found myself back at the Sullivan estate.
The wrought-iron gates groaned as I pushed them open, revealing the same rose-covered courtyard, petals scattered like confetti on the stone path.
The butler visibly exhaled when he saw me. He rushed forward to take my suitcase, his voice trembling slightly.
"Young Madam… you're finally home."
Inside, the living room was in shambles.
Porcelain shards were strewn across the floor. The curtains had been half-ripped from their rods, and even Percy's favorite celadon vase lay smashed in pieces.
I crouched to pick up a shard. Its edge sliced my finger, a bright bead of blood rising instantly.
The butler hesitated behind me. "Young Master has been…"
I shook my head. "It's fine."
A loud thud echoed from upstairs, followed by Percy's voice, raw and furious.
"GET OUT!"
The new nanny, Helen, came barreling down the stairs, eyes puffy and red. She was clutching a full medicine box like it was cursed.
When she spotted me, she froze—then quickly shoved the box into my hands as if she'd been waiting for a rescue.
"Miss Sophia… maybe he'll listen to you."
I carried a glass of warm water up the spiral staircase.
The door to the study was half open. Percy was curled up in the bay window, his back to me, sunlight casting a fragile glow around his slumped frame.
"I said I don't—" He turned mid-shout, then stopped when he saw me.
Without a word, I set the pills and water on the table. "Time for your meds."
He stared at me, silent, a storm brewing behind his eyes. Finally, he looked away. "So. You came back."
I didn't answer. I just counted out the pills and placed them neatly beside his hand.
He snatched them up and dry-swallowed them, his throat bobbing hard.
"The Reynolds didn't want you," he muttered suddenly, bitterness creeping into his voice. "You had nowhere else to go."
The wheels of my suitcase echoed in the hallway as I dragged it toward the guest room. I didn't say a word.
Old Mr. Sullivan had offered me a deal: one million dollars and my freedom.
The catch? I had to endure thirty more days of Percy's chaos.
After dinner, I pulled Helen into the kitchen.
"He needs warm milk before bed—no hotter than 113 degrees," I told her.
She scribbled notes like her life depended on it. "Anything else?"
"He hates celery and carrots, but you'll have to sneak them in somehow."
I opened the fridge, pointing to a row of dated medicine bottles. "These are supplements. Daily, without fail."
The study door slammed open.
Percy stood there, eyes locked on the box in my hands.
Under the harsh kitchen light, his face looked ghostly pale, the corners of his eyes rimmed red.
"What are you doing?" His voice was low, but it cut through the air like a blade.
Helen took an involuntary step back.
I calmly put the box back on the shelf. "Showing Helen how to take care of you."
He stared for a long moment before turning on his heel and slamming the door so hard the chandelier trembled.
The next morning, I noticed the medicine box had been tampered with.
Two sleeping pills were gone.
I was packing when Helen screamed.
Glass shattered. Then Percy's voice roared from upstairs.
"WHO SAID YOU COULD TOUCH MY STUFF?!"
By the time I reached the second floor, Helen was standing frozen, clutching her hand, glass shards at her feet.
Percy lingered in the shadows, his face twisted with fury.
"Get out," he snarled at me.
I didn't move.
He grabbed a photo frame and hurled it across the room.
Glass exploded at my feet. Our wedding photo lay cracked and broken.
"I SAID GET OUT!" he shouted again. "This is my house. Not yours!"
When I married into the Sullivan family at twenty, I truly believed I'd finally found a home.
Now I knew the truth.
My name was never on the deed. I'd only ever been a guest. A placeholder.
I looked at the calendar on the wall.
Engaged at fifteen. Married at twenty.
Ten years.
Ten years of debts, obligation, and pain. It was enough.
I heard my own voice, raw and steady.
"Percy… I want a divorce."