CHAPTER 025: You Have No One
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Just as I say “Ten,” I see Ryan take a reluctant step back. Soon enough, I notice it’s not entirely by his choice. Emily’s fingers are wrapped tightly around his arm, pulling him away from me. Her face is set in a hard line, eyes blazing with an expression I can’t name
Ryan tries to shrug her off, but Emily holds him firm, blocking his path.
“Emily,” he says, “What the hell are you doing? I’ve told you so many times not to involve yourself in these fights. Let me handle Julie.”
Emily doesn’t budge, doesn’t look away. Her voice is cold, quiet, but beneath it, there’s a fire bubbling up, one I’ve never seen from her before. “That woman,” she says, eyes fixed on him, “just survived a near- death experience. Do you really think she won’t go through with her threat? That she won’t burn this entire house down if she wants to? I have properties worth a lot scattered all over this place, Ryan. You’re not going to make her light them up. Do yourself some good and calm the fuck down.”
Ryan’s face slacks, his shoulders dropping. He stares at her, stunned. She might as well have slapped him. For the first time in a long while, he’s silent. It’s Emily, of course, his precious Emily. What else would he do?
As they stand there, their backs half–turned to me, I feel something strange rise in my chest. They’ve both been eating away at my life, piece by piece, turning it into something I barely recognize, and now when I look at them, I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ve been so stupid. So, so stupid.
“If you’re quite done with your ted talk,” I say, “could you step aside? You’re both in my way.”
Ryan doesn’t move. His eyes bore into mine, searching for something I refuse to give him. For a second, I fear he’s going to speak, start another fight as usual, but he just stands there, silent and brooding. It’s Emily who eventually pulls him away, giving me the space I need to walk through. I can feel their gazes on my back as I head down the hallway.
I’m almost at the door, my hand on the handle, when I hear Ryan’s voice behind me. “Are you actually serious? You’re leaving? Where in the world would you go? You have no one, Julie. No friends. I’m the only person who gives a shit about you. So if you leave me, where the hell will you go?” His words stab at my chest, each one laced with poison. “I bet your siblings won’t accept you either, not after you’ve put their mother in jail. You’re on your own, Julie. Completely and utterly alone. Turn back now while you still can.”
I can’t lie, it hurts to move. But I walk anyway. I don’t stop, don’t even turn my head.
When I reach the door, I slide my hand into my handbag and pull out my car keys, letting them drop to the floor with a metallic clink. I do the same for my ring, struggling to get the diamond band out through my. fingers. It bounces once on the floor before settling, and I turn just enough to look over my shoulder.
“Here,” I say. “The keys to the Bentley you bought me as well as the diamond ring you’ve caged me with for years. Give them to your mistress. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture.”
I step out into the cool night air, pulling the door shut behind me.
I can’t remember the last time I was in an Uber–definitely months ago, maybe longer–but here I am, staring out the window, having my first breath of fresh air in months. New York at night, dark and electrified, is the only thing I’ve missed since my college partying days. It feels surreal, like the city itself
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Cute Your
is waiting for me, like it knows I’ve been holding my breath for this.
The cab comes to a slow stop at the curb
“Ma’am,” the driver says, pulling me away from my thoughts. “We’re here”
I see the sleek glass front of the hotel lobby. The driver catches my eyes in the rearview mirror, his brow slightly raised as he waits for me to make a move 1 nod, forcing a polite smile, and pull out some bills from my purse.
“That’s… way over the fare, malam,” he says, as 1 hand them over to him.
“Keep the change,” I tell him, pushing the door open without waiting for his response.
I can hear him shouting “thank you” behind me, but I don’t look back. I’m already moving toward the revolving doors, letting the warm lights of the hotel beckon me in,
The lobby, as expected, is mostly deserted at this hour stride over to the front desk, eyes fixed on the sparkly chandelier above the receptionist’s head.
The receptionist, a young woman with impeccable makeup and a nametag that reads ‘Angela‘, looks up with a smile. “Good evening Welcome to The Marion Hotel. How may I assist you tonight?”
I’d like a room, please,” I say,
She taps a few keys on her computer, the screen casting a glow on her face. “Certainly, ma’am. Will this be for one night or-”
“Let’s do a week for now.” I pull my debit card from my wallet and place it on the counter, the sleek metal glinting against the light.
“Of course,”
Angela picks it up and slides it through the reader, her eyes flicking between the screen and the card. I watch her face, waiting. But then, she frowns, her lips pressing into a thin line as she tries again. And again.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
She gives me that practiced smile that receptionists are known for, the one where they smile extra brightly when things are falling apart. “It’s just the card. It keeps declining.”
“Try again,” I say. “It’s probably the service–it can be a little unreliable sometimes I force a casual laugh, though it sounds hollow even to me.
Angela looks at me for a moment, something uneasy flickering in her eyes before she gives a tight nod and tries the card once more. Then, she clears her throat, her face apologetic but still cautious. “The card is declining, ma’am. It’s… it’s not due to network issues.”
“What is it then?”
“Security restrictions,” she says.
“Security what?”
There’s an uncomfortable pause before she responds. It means that the account this card belongs to has
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CHAPTER 026: A Queen Without Castle
CHAPTER 026: A Queen Without A Castle
I stare at her blankly. “Frozen? There must be some mix–up. Maybe the machine’s acting up? That’s my account. I would know if it’s frozen.”
The receptionist’s expression remains stoic, as if she’s used to dealing with late–night guests having issues with their cards. “I’m afraid so, ma’am,” she says. “It’s showing as restricted.”
I feel frustration simmering beneath my skin. Whatever this is, it has Ryan’s name written all over it. Yet, at the back of my mind, I doubt. It might be a coincidence, because I can’t figure out any possible way Ryan could have done it, frozen this account without my approval. It’s a joint account. There’s a reason it’s called joint, because two people have to sign off on decisions involving the account. So yes, there has to be a reasonable explanation for this. There better be
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask.
Angela shifts uncomfortably, typing again, like maybe she’s hoping a magical solution will pop up on her screen. When it doesn’t, she looks back at me. “I’m really sorry about this. Would you like me to try again?”
I force myself to breathe. “No, that’s fine. I’ll handle it,” I say, pulling my phone from my purse. “Give me a minute.”
The glass screen lights up as I open my banking app, waiting for it to come up.
But the app’s icon keeps spinning, refusing to load. I can practically feel the receptionist’s discomfort, and iny hands tighten around the phone. I tap again, harder this time, as if force might just get me what I need. Nothing. Then a message flashes across the screen: “Please contact customer service for
assistance.”
“Unbelievable,” I say. I look up, forcing a tight smile in the receptionist’s direction as I step away, pretending like it’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience. But inside, I’m boiling. First my card, now this? Today of all days? It’s like the god of shitstorms is out to get me today.
My finger jabs the call button, and I wait as the phone rings. Finally, a voice picks up.
“Thank you for calling Sky National Bank. This is Sara. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Sara,” I say. “I need some help with my account. My card’s declining, and the app says I need to contact customer service. There shouldn’t be any issues–I use this account every day.”
“Alright, ma’am,” she says in that painfully calm, overly friendly tone that customer service reps are trained to use. “I’ll need to verify your account details before we proceed. Can you provide the account number, as well as the name listed on the account?”
recite the number, then my name. “Julie O’Brien. Actually, there are two names on the account, as it’s a joint account, Ryan O’Brien and Julie O’Brien.”
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Brien. One moment, please.” I can hear her typing, the distant clack of keys only adding to my irritation as I watch the receptionist at the counter occasionally glance my way, probably regretting not swapping shifts.
Finally, the woman on the line speaks again. “Mrs. O’Brien, it appears there’s a restriction on this account.”
“Yes, I’ve been told,” I say, forcing patience into my voice. “That’s why I’m calling. I need you to remove
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