Shattered Vows

CHAPTER 6

SABRINA

A week had passed, and finally, the day arrived for me to be discharged from the hospital. Throughout my stay, Mykel never once came to visit me, never showed an ounce of concern. The anger that had fueled my initial desire to storm into his penthouse and confront him had waned over time, thanks to Andrew's gentle persuasion. He convinced me that it would be wiser to confront Mykel when I was stronger and better able to handle the situation.

As I prepared to leave, I found myself signing my own discharge form, a stark reminder of the lack of support I and my baby had received. However, there was another surprise in store for me. When I inquired about settling my hospital bills, I was informed that Mykel had already taken care of them. It seemed he believed that paying the bills would somehow absolve him of his guilt and negligence.

Refusing to let his gesture go unquestioned, I insisted on knowing the exact amount he had paid. The hospital staff obliged, providing me with the necessary information. Armed with this knowledge, I promptly initiated a transfer from my own savings. After all, being a housewife did not mean I had no financial independence. I had diligently saved from my previous job and had been fortunate enough to benefit from Mykel's extravagant generosity during our marriage.

In an act of defiance, I returned the money to his account, determined to maintain my dignity and self-sufficiency.

With my bag in hand, Andrew graciously took charge, guiding me through the hospital's emergency exit. The hospital director had shown us this discreet route specifically to evade the prying eyes of paparazzi who loitered outside the main gate, hungry for a scandalous story.

We found ourselves in an underground parking lot, the secret passageway conveniently leading us straight onto a bustling highway. Andrew carefully placed my hospital bag in the trunk before I settled into the back seat, fastening my seatbelt securely.

As Andrew slipped into the driver's seat, he inserted the key into the ignition, starting the engine. However, instead of immediately pulling out of the parking lot, he turned his gaze towards me, meeting my eyes through the rear-view mirror. His question, "Are you okay, ma'am?" hung in the air, almost sounding like a rhetorical remark. Could he possibly be mocking me? Andrew was well aware of the tumultuous state of my life at the moment although unaware about the baby, so his inquiry seemed almost absurd.

Suppressing my annoyance, I responded with a firm tone, "Take me to Palaceto."

An instant frown etched across Andrew's face, betraying his confusion. "Ma'am?" he questioned, clearly taken aback by my unexpected request.

I fixed Andrew with an intense glare, my eyes piercing through the rear-view mirror. "That wasn't a request, Andrew," I reiterated firmly, my tone commanding. "I am ordering you to take me to Palaceto. I assume my husband is still residing there, correct?"

His voice carried a hint of resignation as he replied, his driving skillfully navigating us out of the parking lot. "Yes, he is, ma'am," Andrew confirmed, surrendering to my demand.

Leaning back in the seat, I closed my eyes, signaling the end of our conversation. It was clear that I would eventually have to confront Mykel. The sooner I faced them head-on, the better.

The car journey seemed to stretch on, an hour and forty-five minutes passing before Andrew finally brought the vehicle to a halt. Opening my eyes, I peered ahead and noticed the distant silhouette of the hotel, prompting a slight crinkle in my nose. Confusion mingled with my impatience as I questioned Andrew, "What's going on? Why did you stop the car?"

Gesturing toward the area surrounding the hotel, Andrew explained, "There's a swarm of paparazzi gathered outside the gate, ma'am. And given the distinctive customized license plate on this car, it won't take them long to recognize it."

"I don't care if they recognize the car," I replied nonchalantly, my indifference towards the opinions of the paparazzi palpable. At this point, I had surpassed the stage of concern for their judgments or the rumors they would undoubtedly spread about us. "Drive me through that gate. Besides, they won't dare follow us onto the premises; that would be trespassing."

Andrew acquiesced, his hands guiding the car back into motion. As expected, the photographers swarmed around the vehicle, their cameras flashing and muffled questions thrown our way. I remained unfazed, refusing to acknowledge their presence, knowing they were powerless to pursue us within the confines of the property.

Eventually, Andrew skillfully maneuvered the car through the gate, bringing us into the hotel premises. He parked in the designated area, and I released a heavy exhale, my gaze fixed on the world beyond the car window.

"Can you lend me your sunglasses, Andrew?" I requested, realizing the necessity of shielding myself from prying eyes and curious onlookers.

Without hesitation, Andrew retrieved his sunglasses and handed them to me. "Here you go, ma'am,"

Donning Andrew's sunglasses, I swung open the car door and stepped out with purpose, barely giving him a chance to round the vehicle and open the door for me. Acknowledging his brief nod, I took the lead, confident in my stride. Adorned in a sleek all-black ensemble, complemented by the Prada heels that Andrew had retrieved from my closet, I exuded an air of confidence and determination as I made my way towards the hotel lobby.

Shielded behind the sunglasses, I sashayed through the doors, drawing the attention of the lobby's occupants. Eyes turned towards me, their curiosity piqued by the aura of defiance and mystery I projected. Ignoring the whispers and covert glances, I headed straight for the receptionist desk, where a young man in a smart blue suit sat.

As he sensed my presence, he glanced up, his professional smile firmly in place as he addressed me in a welcoming tone. "Welcome to The Palaceto. How can we assist you today?"

With a steely resolve, I met his gaze, my tone firm and unwavering. "I require the private penthouse elevator card." It was not a mere request; it was a demand. I was prepared to create a scene right here and now if he dared to refuse me. The time for compliance and submission had long passed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the receptionist replied, his voice tinged with reluctance. "But the penthouse is currently occupied, and we are unable to provide the elevator card without permission from the resident."

Without missing a beat, he reached for the landline on the desk, presumably to seek confirmation or authorization. "May I have your name, ma'am?"

"Mrs. Kalant," I stated bluntly, watching his eyes widen in realization. "I am the wife of the person occupying the penthouse."

Leaning forward, I placed both hands firmly on the counter, intensifying my resolve. "I will say this once more," I asserted, my voice carrying a hint of authority. "Give me the elevator card." The alternative, unspoken threat lingered in the air—Andrew would retrieve it himself if necessary.

The young man, clearly flustered by the revelation, hastily apologized, quickly complying with my demand as he handed me the coveted card. "I apologize, ma'am. I had no idea you were Mrs. Kalant."

Ignoring his apology, I strode purposefully towards the elevator, Andrew following closely behind. We stepped into the confines of the elevator, a tense silence enveloping us as it ascended. Finally, with a subtle ping, the doors parted, revealing a well-lit hallway, stretching out before us.

As I entered the hallway, my gaze swept over the familiar figures of Mykel's security personnel. They remained silent, their stoic expressions betraying no hint of recognition or acknowledgement. In turn, I paid them no mind, refusing to engage with them as I prepared to confront Mykel.

Raising my fist, I rapped on the door three times, the sound echoing through the hallway. Expecting Mykel to answer, I was surprised when it was Barbara who opened the door. She regarded me with a lazy, almost indifferent expression. "You look good for someone who has been in the hospital," she remarked, her tone laced with a subtle hint of sarcasm.

"Babe! Who is that?" Mykel's voice called from within the penthouse.

"Babe?" I scoffed quietly under my breath, my lips curving into a subtle smile as I observed Barbara's barely-there nightwear that left little to the imagination. "He's asked you a question, Barbara," I pointed out, my smile perplexing her for a moment. "Why don't you answer?"

Rolling her eyes, Barbara nonchalantly leaned against the doorway. "It's your desperate wife," she replied dismissively, her tone laced with sarcasm. "I believe she finally found us." Mykel emerged from behind her, draped in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. "I guess you underestimated her," she added, a touch of disdain evident in her words.

Mykel's hand rested on Barbara's shoulder as he loomed behind her, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of caution. "What are you doing here, Sabrina?"

Without a moment's hesitation, my hand swung forward, delivering a resounding slap across his cheek. The sting reverberated through my palm, but I maintained my composure, meeting his startled gaze. "Hello to you too, Mykel. Did you receive the money I sent to your account?"

Barbara gasped audibly, her instinctive reaction prompting her to raise her hand in defense of Mykel. However, her attempt to retaliate was swiftly met with the same forceful impact that Mykel had just endured. The difference was that I struck her with even greater force. "I understand that you're a mistress trying your best to secure the title of being his wife," I stated firmly, my voice tinged with an undercurrent of authority. "But learn to take a step back whenever I'm discussing matters with Mykel."

Furious, Barbara's voice erupted in a scream. "Did you f*****g hit me?!" Her anger ignited, and she readied herself to launch an attack. Yet, Andrew, stepping forward with an intimidating glare, silenced her intent. Desperate for support, Barbara turned to Mykel, seeking refuge, but he simply ignored her plea. She scoffed bitterly. "You're going to let her hit me?"

A chuckle escaped my lips, a mix of amusement and disbelief. "I just hit him, and he didn't even have the audacity to retaliate. What makes you think he would come to your defense?" I remarked, addressing Barbara's incredulity.

"I can't believe this!" Barbara exclaimed, purposefully brushing Mykel's shoulder as she stormed off into the penthouse, leaving us alone to face the reality of our shattered relationship.

"What are you doing here, Sabrina?" Mykel's weary voice broke the silence, his expression a blend of resignation and curiosity.

"I was curious to know why you didn't show up at the hospital," I replied, removing the sunglasses to meet his gaze head-on. "That's why I decided to come here. And now, I guess I've finally found my answers. You chose the company of your mistress over me."

Mykel let out a tired sigh, his weariness apparent. "Why do you insist on making yourself suffer?"

Tilting my head, I studied him intently, searching for any semblance of remorse or understanding. "I've asked myself that question countless times," I admitted, biting my lower lip in a mixture of frustration and sadness. "I got into an accident because of my husband and his mistress, and yet here I am, paying him a visit instead of the other way around."

A curse slipped through Mykel's lips, a fleeting glimpse of remorse surfacing within his eyes.

Stepping back, I slid the sunglasses back on, a shield against the emotions swirling in the room. "I'll get straight to the point so you can attend to your girlfriend, as I'm sure she dislikes being kept waiting," I stated coolly. Mykel's brows knitted together in confusion. "You're going to be staying here for a while, right?"

His perplexed expression lingered as he replied, "Yes, why?"

"There's no need to worry, Mykel. I just wanted to know whether I should send the signed divorce papers to this address or directly to your lawyer. Which option do you prefer?" I inquired, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Mykel blinked slowly, the weight of my words sinking in. "You're signing the divorce papers?"

"That's not an answer to my question, Mykel," I retorted, a hint of impatience creeping into my voice. "Do you want them sent here or to your lawyer?" He opened his mouth, but no words emerged, seemingly unable to formulate a coherent response. "Very well, I'll send them to your lawyer."

With one final glance in his direction, I turned away, walking steadfastly, and perhaps, finally, away from him—for good.