The Price Of His White Shrine
That shrine was Sierra Cole, the younger sister of his deceased platoon brother, Patrick Cole.
The rule was: Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, he was home. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, he was with Sierra. He never once kept his side of the bargain. Five years, and I had never truly had him alone.
The world called me 'The Saint of Highbury.' Mrs. Holloway Sr., Grants mother, called me a disgrace for failing to keep my own husband home, dragging the Holloway name through the mud.
Until that evening. I passed his study and heard him speaking to his assistant, his tone utterly casual:
If Izzy comes looking for me, tell her something came up. A last-minute board meeting. Something easy. A slight chuckle. Sierras been having a rough couple of days. If I don't go, she won't sleep.
No tears. No confrontation. Just a terrifying calm. I found the old burner phone I'd kept hidden for five years and sent a single text:
Five years ago you said if I was ever truly unhappy, youd come for me. Do you still mean it?
1
The phone, unused for so long, died the second the message was delivered.
I sank onto the bedroom carpet, the image from the study flashing behind my eyes. Grant leaning back against his mahogany desk, speaking to his assistant with easy indifference:
Just give her an excuse. Izzy never pushes. Patrick died saving my life. Sierra is all alone in the world, a fragile woman. I owe them that debt.
In that instant, every lonely night, every dinner that went from warm to cold, became a sliver of glass piercing my lungs. Staring at the empty bedroom, my chest constricted, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
He had never spent a single night here.
Whenever he returned from her place, hed bring a gift, a peace offering. Everything from a rare vintage perfume to the custom-made jade bracelet he'd bid for at an exclusive auction. I used to think they were his quiet, awkward attempts at tenderness.
Now I knew. They werent acts of affection. They were receipts for his guilt. Proof of his absence.
I swept my arm across the dresser, sending the expensive bottles and boxes crashing to the marble floor.
The door flew open. Grant strode in, stopping dead at the sight of the glittering wreckage.
What the hell are you doing?
I didn't turn around. I just held onto my shaking voice, forcing out the calmest question I could find:
It's Monday, Grant. Are you staying?
The air froze.
Grants eyes darted away before settling on my hand. He knelt, taking it in his own.
Something really urgent came up tonight, Izzy. Next time. I promise, next time Ill stay.
Looking at the perfect features of his face, so close to mine, a fresh wave of pain hit me.
Grant, Im your wife. But for five years, Sierra Cole has been living like your bride. The dam of five years worth of hurt finally broke, rushing out.
He knelt there, gently wiping away the tears streaming down my face.
Patrick died saving my life, Izzy. You know Sierras depression is severe. If I dont go, she really could do something drastic.
He looked utterly sincere. I only felt a glacial coldness spread through me.
I was about to push him away when his phone pinged. A voice note from Mrs. Holloway Sr.:
Dinner tonight at the estate. We need to discuss you and Isabelle finally providing the family with an heir.
My heart plummeted. My inability to conceive had been a consistent point of contention for his mother. She had publicly called me an infertile hen and had once gone on a hunger strike to force Grant to divorce me. He'd only stopped her by kneeling outside her bedroom door for three days.
Grant squeezed my hand. Dont worry. Ill go with you.
The words were barely out before Sierra's call came through:
Grant? My stomach hurts so badly. Can you come over?
He dropped my hand instantly.
His face was a mask of strained apology. Izzy, Sierras situation is delicate. Go have dinner with my mother, and Ill come collect you later.
He turned and practically ran out the door.
My vision blurred with tears.
Grant never showed up that night.
I endured Mrs. Holloway Sr.'s barbed insults alone, catching the whispers of the staff in the hallway:
Young people are just different, arent they? The cleaning lady said she saw at least half a dozen used wrappers in the trash at the other house yesterday
Five years and not a flicker in the Rhodes-Holloway line. That poor saintly wife is going to be replaced before Christmas, I bet.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, letting the words pierce me like needles.
He had sworn, on bended knee before both our families, that he would always cherish me. Everyone envied me, saying I had married my soulmate.
But on our wedding night, his unit showed up, their faces grim. She tried to overdose, Grant. You have to go.
He had knelt there in the hallway of our bridal suite, his eyes red. Izzy, I know I owe you everything, but this is a debt to Patrick. I cant leave her.
Trust me. Just let her get stable, and then we can start our life. Just wait for her, Izzy. Please.
Seeing his pain, I had relented.
For five years, I had kept an empty house, managed his familys affairs, and played the dutiful wife. Tonight, I finally understood that every night he'd claimed to be working late, he had been in the arms of another woman.
I dried my tears and signed the divorce papers Id prepared.
The ink was barely dry when the doorbell chimed.
I opened the door, and Sierra shoved past me, waltzing straight in.
She looked around the room with exaggerated pity. Oh, wow. Its so... quaint. Not exactly the master suite I pictured for the Holloway heir.
I capped my pen. Do you need something?
She let out a soft, mocking laugh, dropping the neck of her top just enough to reveal a purple shadow near her collarbone.
Look what your husband did to me, Izzy. Begged him to stop last night, but he just wouldnt. Oh, right. I forgot. You wouldnt know what that feels like, would you, sister-in-law? Poor thing.
I clenched my fists so tight my nails cut into my palms.
When I didn't answer, the false pity vanished. Her voice turned hard.
Isabelle Rhodes. For five years, Grant would rather handle things himself than come home to you, even when Im on my period. Dont you get it? Be smart. File for divorce and walk away empty-handed.
I slowly stood up and pulled the front door wide open. Are you finished? Get out.
Her eyes flashed with pure malice. She grabbed my wrist and, before I could react, slammed it hard into her own stomach.
She let out a piercing scream, collapsing to the floor. My baby! It hurts!
The bedroom door burst open. Grant was there, charging in. He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate. He kicked my legs out from under me, sending me sprawling.
He rushed to Sierra, who was sobbing uncontrollably. Sierra, are you okay? What happened?
She clung to him, tears streaming. Grant, the baby will our baby be okay?
When Grant looked up at me, his eyes were blazing with savage fury.
Before I could regain my footing, he backhanded me across the face, the force of the blow snapping my neck back.
Izzy! How could you be this vicious! Patrick died for me. I put up with you giving her cold shoulders, but now you attack her? Shes carrying the only heir Patricks family will ever have! Why cant you just be the bigger person for once!
My cheek stung, but the pain was distant. I looked at him, my voice a broken whisper.
She shes carrying your child?
Watching him gently cup Sierras trembling stomach, a lance of pain shot through my heart, stealing my breath.
Grants gaze was icy. If anything happens to her or the baby, I will never forgive you.
Perhaps sensing the severity of his words, he paused, his eyes falling on the red thread talisman around my neck.
Take that off, he commanded. Itll be an apology, a sign of respect, to ease Sierras shock.
The thread.
I recoiled violently, instinctively clutching the silk cord around my throat.
No! This is my mothers relic! She used her dying wish to get this for me! I screamed. Grant! What about the promises you made her on her deathbed?
He faltered for a moment, his brow furrowed, but his impatience only grew.
Youre my wife now. Everything you own is mine. Its a ridiculous piece of string. Is it more important than human life?
He reached out, his grip bruising as he clamped onto my neck and violently ripped the thread off.
I stumbled and fell, scrambling to snatch it back, but he shoved me away again.
Give it back!
My mother had been violently opposed to the marriage. Grant had spent three months by her bedside, tending to her, until he finally knelt before her, swearing:
Madam, I will cherish Izzy more than my own life. As long as I live, she will never know a day of sorrow.
My mother, finally yielding, had used her last strength to tie the talisman around my neck, watching him with her failing eyes. He knew better than anyone what that thread represented.
Sierra, watching the scene, casually took the thread from Grant, examining it with disdain. Then, with a bored flick of her wrist, she tossed it out the open window.
No!
I lunged for the window, my body half-out the frame, desperately searching for the fluttering red silk.
Grant stood still, then his face hardened.
Izzy, its a piece of trash. Let it go. Stop this hysteria. Youll upset Sierra and the baby.
He ignored my look of complete devastation, wrapping his arm around Sierra. Dont be scared. Ill take you to the clinic now. We cant risk any trauma to the baby.
The red thread was gone, carried away by the wind.
The wind burned my tear-swollen eyes, but no more tears would come. I simply whispered:
Divorce me, Grant.
The air solidified.
Grant spun around, his expression incredulous.
You want to divorce me over a piece of worthless string?
I slowly pulled myself upright, smoothed my wind-tousled clothes, and picked up the signed divorce papers from the desk.
I met his gaze, my voice steady now.
Yes.
His shock turned instantly to volcanic rage.
Izzy Rhodes, youve lost your mind! Dont forget, if you leave the Holloway family, you have nowhere to go! Youre infertile, you haven't worked in five years. Who would ever want you now? Youre the woman Grant Holloway was bored with!
He snatched the agreement and tore it into confetti.
Divorce? Dream on!
He shoved past me, delicately supporting Sierra as they walked out.
I stumbled against the sharp edge of the coffee table, a searing pain shooting through my ribs.
Grant didn't look back. I heard his voice, tender and low, directed at Sierra:
Sierra, once the baby is here, well give him the Cole name. Ill make sure hes well provided for. I wont fail Patrick in this. And if Izzy ever gives you trouble again, you call me. I wont go easy on her.
Listening to that, I turned to the window, seeing my own battered, defeated reflection in the glass. I let out a low, shaky laugh.
Three days. That was the window. With or without his signature, I was leaving.
But late that night, I was woken by a searing jolt of heat.
Grant was standing over me, his hand clamped around my throat, his eyes filled with murderous intent.
Izzy! Didnt I warn you to stay in line!
I thrashed beneath him, struggling to breathe. Poison? I dont know what youre talking about
He released my neck and violently dragged me out to the car, speeding to the hospital. He threw me to my knees on the cold marble of the hospital hallway, outside Sierra's room.
Kneel there! Wait until Sierra wakes up and apologize to her face!
A sharp, dizzying pain shot through me, and my vision tunneled.
The door to the room suddenly burst open.
Sierra, holding a small paring knife, lunged at me. You murderer! Give me back my baby!
I scrambled to evade her, but the blade still sank deep into my side.
A gasp of agony tore from me. Clutching my bleeding wound, I looked to Grant. There was a time when he would have rushed me to the ER for a simple papercut.
Now, though I was bleeding freely, he was merely adjusting his cufflink.
You owe her this, Izzy. It's not fatal. Just get it over with.
I was too weak to speak, my eyes locked on his cold face.
Sierras eyes were wild. She pulled the knife out and stabbed again.
Once. Twice.
Warm blood pooled beneath me. I retched, spitting up a mouthful of blood, collapsing onto the marble.
Only then did Grant step in, seizing the deranged Sierra.
Sierra, thats enough. Shes been punished. We cant have a scene like thisits bad luck for the baby.
She burrowed into his chest, sobbing hysterically. But she almost killed our child! Grant, if you keep protecting her, Im taking this baby and going to join Patrick!
With that, she turned the knife, pointing it at her pregnant belly.
Sierra! Stop! Grant's old unit, having rushed in, tore the knife from her hand.
The hulking man in the lead backhanded me with brutal force.
You absolute monster! Cant have your own kid, so you try to murder the last heir of Patrick Coles line!
Lets teach this bitch a lesson! Make her slap herself! Don't stop until she's bleeding!
My ears were ringing. I saw a flicker of hesitation in Grants eyes, but it was immediately replaced by a chilling calm.
Izzy. You need to accept the punishment. Sierra is a fallen heros kin. Youve gone too far.
He nodded to his men. Get the knuckle dusters. She needs a wake-up call.
The steel was quickly produced. Grant roughly grabbed my hand, forcing my fingers into the tight metal rings.
I grabbed his pants leg, my voice shaking. I swear, it wasnt me Please, believe me
Still lying?!
He kicked my hand away.
Two men pinned me against the wall, one grabbing my hair to hold my head steady as they forced my hand to strike my own face.
Sierra, nestled safely in Grants arms, shrieked.
Harder! One thousand slaps! Dont stop until she breaks!
My cheek swelled instantly, splitting open. Blood and tears blurred my vision. I bit my tongue to keep from losing consciousness.
The pain on my face was nothing compared to the agony in my heart.
When the one-thousandth slap landed, I was kicked to the wall, left like garbage. The cold radiating from the floor seemed to draw the life out of me.
I woke up later to find myself back at the villa.
Grant was sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully dabbing the gash on my forehead. He set the cotton swab down, his voice betraying nothing.
Sierras baby is fine, and shes calmer now. Once the child is born, I wont need to see her as much. I can come straight home from work.
My heart plummeted, the familiar constriction returning.
I weakly pushed his hand away, a hollow, cynical smile twisting my lips.
Five years, Grant, five entire years. She called, and you abandoned everything, every time. You keep claiming this debt to Patrick. Does that debt require you to give her your whole life? Your whole life, Grant? And now, a child?
Grants eyes flickered, avoiding my gaze.
He placed the ointment on the nightstand, his voice flat, but with an unshakeable certainty.
Izzy, I know youre hurt. But Patrick squeezed my hand just before he died and only said, The Coles and my sister are your responsibility now. I have to provide his family with an heir.
Starting tomorrow, youll rest at home. Ive already contacted your officeyouve resigned. Sierra will take over your duties at the charity. You need to relax.
Fighting back a surging wave of nausea, I finally asked the question that had poisoned my marriage for half a decade.
Grant. All those odd-numbered days, those Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you never came home you werent busy, were you? You just didnt want to be here. You never loved me.
Grant was silent.
The concrete air thickened.
Then, I heard the word I had spent five years dreading. The word that finally broke me completely.
Yes.
Even though I had been preparing for it, hearing Grant say it shattered the last pieces of me.
Why? Five years. You watched me be humiliated, slandered, pointed at, and you never said a word to defend me.
Grant reached out to touch my face, his voice sickeningly gentle.
Izzy, you know youre the only one I want. My duty to Sierra was only because her brother saved my life. Once the baby is here, its all over. We can start our own family, just us. Okay?
I jerked my head away from his touch, bile rising in my throat.
You disgust me.
Grant Holloway, I want a divorce.
His face instantly turned cold. His eyes became venomous, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk.
Fine. Youre a piece of work, Izzy. The whole city knows you as my woman. You think Ill let you divorce me and let the Holloway name become a joke?
You want to play this game? You stay here. No phone, no communication with anyone. Lets see how long your little rebellion lasts.
He slammed the door behind him.
I collapsed onto the bed, silent tears tracing the lacerations on my face.
In the days that followed, Grant took my phone and cut off all communication. I could only track the rising and setting of the sun to count the time until the day I had planned to leave. Only one day left.
The Cole family hosted a grand celebration for Sierras pregnancy, where Grant was formally accepted as an honorary son.
In the villa, I quickly packed my few belongings.
The zipper on my suitcase was barely closed when the door was kicked open.
Grant, what are you doing? My heart seized.
Sierras vintage sapphire braceletPatricks heirloomis missing. The maid said you were in her room this morning. Youre trying to stress her out to cause a miscarriage, aren't you!
His accusation sent a chill deep into my bones.
What are you talking about? I havent left this house.
But Grant roughly seized my arm and dragged me straight to the Cole estate.
Mr. Cole was seated at the head of the table, and Sierra was weeping into a handkerchief beside him. The maid instantly pointed an accusing finger at me.
It was her! I saw her leaving Miss Coles room this morning! Shes jealous of Miss Coles pregnancy because she cant have children herself!
Mr. Cole was furious. Grant, is this true?
My breath caught. I havent left the house in days! I haven't spoken to anyone!
Sierra immediately wailed, burying her face in her hands.
Sister Izzy, if you want me to lose this baby, just say so! But please, dont steal my brothers last memory!
Mrs. Coles face darkened. Patrick died to save you, Grant, leaving us without an heir. Now that Sierra is finally pregnant, youre letting this woman try to destroy us again?
Mr. Cole slammed his fist on the table. Grant Holloway! You will give us an answer now!
Grants eyes showed a brief flicker of internal struggle. Then, his face hardened.
Izzy, show them the jewelry.
When I remained silent, he picked up the antique riding crop from the nearby mantle and dipped it into a bowl of salt water.
My face went white. I grabbed his sleeve, screaming.
You believe them? Just based on their accusations?
Grants body stiffened, a brief look of doubt crossing his face.
Sierra instantly let out a choked sob. Grant I feel so dizzy
In an instant, Grant ripped his arm away from me. The riding crop came down with a vicious crack.
Confess!
My heart plunged to a depth from which it could never return.
Pushed to the floor, the brine-soaked leather cut through the air.
Crack!
The blinding pain was overwhelming.
Grant had no pity. He only ordered Sierra to turn away. Dont look, youll scare the baby.
Through the agonizing blur, I saw the fireworks on the Fourth of July, the year he held my hand and promised: If I can spend my life with you, I will never let you go.
Crack!
The second strike. I remembered the year a hurricane trapped me on a business trip, and he drove a thousand miles through the storm to bring me home.
Crack!
The third. The time I had a high fever, and he sat by my bed all night, his eyes red with worry, saying: When you hurt, I hurt more.
Strike after strike, blood seeped into the polished wood floor. The heart that had burned so fiercely for him shattered, piece by excruciating piece.
The stares of the wealthy guests felt like a thousand pins. Pity, scorn, schadenfreude. The once-glorious Rhodes heiress was being stripped of her final dignity in front of the entire city.
Just before my consciousness completely dissolved, a voice, impossibly weak but crystal clear, echoed in the silent hall.
Grant Holloway we are done.
He gave no answer. He simply gestured to a bodyguard to drag me out.
As I felt the darkness closing in, a clean scent of cedar and sea salt suddenly cut through the brine and the blood.
A pair of strong arms carefully lifted my broken body.
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