3.Chapter 3 When Plans Backfire
Zachary’s shifted awkwardly. “Gwennie, Bella’s place is getting renovated. The fumes are bad for her, so she…”
“Can’t she stay at a hotel?” Gwyneth’s chest clenched. She thought she was over feeling anything, but the same suffocating ache spread through her.
Bella sniffled as she packed her violin case. “Don’t fight because of me. I’ll just go.”
She stumbled for her luggage, hitting the table corner with a whimper. She clutched her chest and gasped weakly, voice trembling and lashes fluttering.
“Are you alright? Watch your step. Where does it hurt? You got your meds?” Zachary swept her up and rushed toward the stairs.
There were only two upstairs bedrooms—Gwyneth’s and Zachary’s.
“This is my house. I don’t agree!” Gwyneth blocked the way. The air turned icy.
Zachary’s expression turned cold. “Gwyneth, Bella’s not feeling great. This isn’t the time. And just so we’re clear—II bought this villa.”
A sly glint flickered in Bella’s eyes. She limply looped her arms around Zachary’s neck, her lips almost brushing his chin. “Put me down, Zachary. Someone like me doesn’t belong here.”
Driven by pride, Zachary shoved Gwyneth aside. “If I say you belong here, you do.”
Gwyneth’s leg slammed into the stair railing, pain draining the color from her face.
Zachary kept soothing Bella, never looking at Gwyneth. After settling Bella into bed, he went downstairs, only to find Gwyneth had vanished. His calls went straight to voicemail.
He didn’t sweat it. In Galvocity, Gwyneth had only two places to go: here or Pamela’s farm. He was sure she’d come back once she calmed down.
As Zachary turned to go up, a yellow envelope in the corner caught his eye. Recalling her rambling about their wedding date before her birthday, he picked it up.
He checked the date inside and called his assistant to clear his schedule for next Monday. The moment he hung up, his phone buzzed with credit card alerts for jewelry, designer clothes, handbags, and more.
He opened WhatsApp and shot off a message. [$3M credit limit. Come home when it’s maxed—no sleeping out.] The words oozed a hint of resignation and total indulgence.
Gwyneth stared at the message after signing the contract, feeling hollow inside. Zachary had controlled her life since she was ten. One word from him, and she’d do anything.
But the guy who swore to be with her forever was now carrying another woman into the bedroom they’d picked for their wedding night.
‘Think I’ll still obey? Not a chance,’ Gwyneth sneered silently.
Too numb to shop anymore, she headed straight to Galvocity’s most luxurious hotel. She snagged the penthouse suite and ordered up the priciest red wine and steak on the menu.
A long bubble bath later, she stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, wine glass in hand, staring down at the city’s twinkling lights.
She’d thought she’d never leave this place. But it seemed life had other plans.
After downing two glasses, Gwyneth pulled out her phone and typed a message. [Meet me at Eastside Café tomorrow at 10. Bring the stock transfer papers. I’ll sign.]
The response was instant: [You’re on!]
Everprosper Group was a company Gwyneth and Zachary had founded together. When the company was first established, he had given her a 10% stake in the original shares.
Just like their adjoining villas, those shares were his safety net—his way of keeping her tangled in his web.
She had been thrilled and touched by his generosity. She linked the dividend account for her original shares to the company’s finances. Over the years, she hadn’t taken a single penny, reinvesting everything back into the company.
But now, if they were breaking up, she’d do it for real.
Before bed, Gwyneth got another text from Zachary. [I covered your hotel through next Monday. Let’s call a truce, Gwennie. I’ll take you to City Hall on Monday.]
She rummaged through her things—the envelope was nowhere. She just sat there, staring at the text for ages.
‘Zachary moved Bella into our home and still offered to pay for my hotel while casually talking about marriage licenses. The nerve! Does he think I’ll still walk down the aisle with him now?’ she thought bitterly.
*****
At 11:30 PM, Gwyneth woke in excruciating pain. Her stomach felt like it had been seared through with a hot iron.
Back when Zachary was launching his business, she’d hit four different networking dinners in one day, scrambling to land clients and investors.
At that time, all she wanted was to make Zachary shine in front of the Flynn family, who’d looked down on him.
After wrecking her stomach from all that drinking—six months to recover—Zachary had shut her out of the business, telling her to just stay home and get ready to be the future Mrs. Flynn.
Pain scrambled her thoughts. She struggled to sit up and yanked open the nightstand drawer, fumbling around inside—nothing.
Then it hit her: this was a hotel, not the home she shared with Zachary. No stomach meds stashed here like usual.
She curled into a ball, groaning as cold sweat beaded on her pale forehead. She thought it’d pass if she toughed it out. But ten minutes later, the pain hadn’t let up.
She couldn’t wait anymore. Shaking, she reached for her phone to call 911—but Zachary’s name flashed on the screen.
People got weak when they were desperate. As Gwyneth saw that familiar number, her nose stung with bitterness. The tough front she’d held for days crumbled.
She answered, pressing the phone to her ear. Before she could speak, his angry voice snapped, “Gwyneth, do you hate Bella that much? She was your best friend!”
His words hit Gwyneth like a punch, leaving her head spin. She clutched her stomach tightly, and her teeth chattered as she said, “What happened to her?”
Her weak voice should’ve tipped Zachary off. But blind with fury, he only heard defiance. “How dare you even ask? When did you get so cold-hearted, Gwyneth?”
His voice thundered. “You knew Bella has asthma, yet you sprayed tons of disinfectant at home and even put aromatherapy in the bathroom on purpose. She almost suffocated to death!”
Gwyneth’s teeth sank into her lip until it bled. She laughed silently, tasting bitterness. The disinfectant was to scrub away any trace of her. The candles? They were a sleep aid blend she’d hunted down for Zachary’s restless nights.
“Zachary,” she whispered, “I can’t see the future. I had no idea you’d move Bella in.”
Dead silence. Through the line came his labored breathing, like a cornered animal swallowing its fury.
A fresh wave of pain stabbed Gwyneth. She couldn’t hold on any longer and let out a stifled groan. The phone slipped from her palm.
“What’s wrong with you?” Zachary asked.
“My stomach’s killing me. Can you—”
He cut her off, voice worn out. “Just drink some water. Bella’s still out cold; I can’t leave. Be reasonable, Gwennie. I’m drained. Stop with the drama.” Then the line went dead.
