The Billionaire's Wife Escapes To Antarctica

It was 2:00 AM. The penthouse was pitch black. Amy sat in the center of the large living room sofa. She had not turned on a single lamp. She sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the front door.

The electronic keypad beeped. The heavy door clicked open.

Brigham walked in. The cold night air clung to his wool coat. He reached out and flipped the wall switch. The crystal chandelier flooded the room with harsh light.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Amy sitting there. His eyes flickered with exhaustion. He rubbed his jaw, the muscle there ticking visibly.

He walked over to the coffee table. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, square box. The Sotheby's logo was stamped in gold on the top. He set it down on the glass table.

"Giselle's charity foundation needed a centerpiece for their upcoming auction," he said. His voice was low, trying to sound reasonable. "The piece had a complicated ownership history tied to a Myers Corp. subsidiary. I had to be there to sign off on the legal transfer. That's all it was."

He flipped the box open. A massive pink diamond necklace sparkled against the black velvet. "I saw this and thought of you. It's an apology for missing the dinner."

Amy did not look at the diamond. She looked at his face. Her eyes were completely dead.

"Do you think you can just buy my forgiveness?" she asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. "Every time you humiliate me, you throw a piece of jewelry at me like I'm a dog."

Brigham's face darkened. He hated when she pushed back like this. He unbuttoned his coat and threw it over a chair.

"You are being unreasonable, Amy." He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Giselle is alone in the city. She has no one else to help her navigate these circles. We are just friends."

"Friends." Amy let out a short, sharp laugh. The sound held no humor. It was pure acid. It scraped against Brigham's nerves.

The air in the room grew heavy and suffocating. Brigham stood up. "I am not doing this tonight. I am going to the guest room."

He took two steps before his phone vibrated violently against the glass table. The screen lit up. Giselle's name flashed in bright white letters.

Brigham snatched the phone and answered it. "Yes?"

Through the quiet room, Amy could hear the high-pitched, hysterical sobbing coming from the speaker. "Brigham! I can't breathe! My chest hurts so much. Please, I'm scared. Please come."

All the color drained from Brigham's face. He didn't even hesitate. He grabbed his car keys from the bowl by the door.

Amy stood up. Her knees locked. "If you walk out that door right now, we are done. What are we, Brigham?"

Brigham stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He did not turn around. His knuckles were white gripping the metal.

"She is having a severe panic attack. Her life might be in danger. Stop acting like a child."

He pulled the door open and stepped out. The heavy door slammed shut behind him. The loud bang echoed off the high ceilings.

Amy stood in the middle of the room. A physical pain ripped through her chest, so sharp she gasped for air. It felt like an invisible hand had reached into her ribs and crushed her heart.

She slowly sank to the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She waited for the tears to come. But her eyes were completely dry. There was nothing left to cry out.

Ten minutes passed. She stood up. Her face was calm. The chaotic pain was gone, replaced by a freezing, absolute certainty.

She walked into the massive walk-in closet. She pulled down a medium-sized suitcase. She packed three pairs of jeans, some sweaters, her lab coats, and her passport.

She walked past the rows of designer dresses Brigham had bought her. She ignored the velvet display cases filled with diamonds and emeralds. She did not touch a single thing he had paid for.

She walked back into the living room. She picked up the Sotheby's box with the pink diamond. She walked to the kitchen and dropped it into the trash can, right on top of the velvet box from yesterday.

At 3:00 AM, Amy rolled her suitcase out of the penthouse. She did not look back.

She stood on the curb and hailed a yellow cab. "Take me to the Columbia University staff housing," she told the driver.

She sat in the back seat. She pulled out her phone. She opened her contacts, found Brigham's name, and hit 'Block Caller'. She turned the screen off and watched the city lights blur past the window.