The Ring I Designed, The Finger She Wore It On Chapter 04

The Ring I Designed, The Finger She Wore It On Chapter 04

“Who told you you could go through my things?”

Grant snatched the notebook away, and for the first time, real anger showed on his face.

I put the evaluation sheet in front of him.

“So when you proposed to me, it wasn’t because you loved me.”

“Marriage is a decision you make rationally.”

“Camille got a perfect score. Why didn’t you choose her?”

His hand stilled for a moment.

“She wasn’t the right match for the Calloway family.”

I understood.

Camille didn’t come from money. Her father was deep in debt, and her family could offer the Calloways no advantage.

The connections my father had left behind and my fifteen-percent stake in Crestwell Group were enough to make up that final point.

“So what was I? Just the practical choice?”

Grant was silent for a moment before answering for me.

“What else?”

The pain in my abdomen was getting worse.

I gripped the edge of the desk and forced myself to stay upright.

“You spent three years pursuing me. You waited outside the interpreting firm for me. You were there for my mother’s final treatment. Was all of that just part of your evaluation?”

“Getting to know a potential spouse is basic due diligence.”

“And when you told me I didn’t have to be perfect?”

“To get you to let your guard down.”

“The day you proposed, you said you’d choose only me for the rest of your life.”

He frowned.

“Vivian, people say what the moment calls for. Why are you clinging to every word?”

I nodded.

Every promise I’d treasured had been nothing more than another box he knew how to check.

His phone rang. Camille was crying on the other end.

“Grant, people online are saying I stole the manuscript. The publisher wants to cancel the launch. Can you come?”

Grant grabbed his coat.

I blocked the doorway.

“I’m the one who contacted the publisher.”

“Drop the complaint.”

“No.”

“Camille already agreed to keep your mother’s name on the book. What more do you want?”

“She altered the manuscript. She erased the message my mother wrote to me.”

“That line doesn’t change the content.”

He moved past me.

I caught his sleeve.

“Grant, what if I need you right now?”

“Don’t do this just to compete for my attention.”

“I’m not competing with anyone.”

The pain spread through my lower abdomen, and even my voice was shaking.

“I’m asking you once. Will you stay with me today?”

His eyes lingered on my pale face for a moment.

Then Camille’s crying came through the phone again.

“Grant, all the reporters are outside. I’m really scared.”

Grant pulled my hand away.

“Camille’s book launch affects Crestwell’s reputation. Go lie down. I’ll come back when I’m finished.”

Before the door closed, he added one last thing.

“When I get back, sign the proxy. Today, you get a sixty.”

I listened to his car pull away and slowly sank to the floor.

Blood seeped through my skirt and dripped onto the floor.

I took out my phone and called 911.

On the way to the hospital, a paramedic asked if there was anyone they should call.

I stared at Grant’s number but didn’t dial it.

“No one.”

I lost the baby.

The doctor handed me a small box with the bloodstained medical printout and the grainy ultrasound image inside.

“You were eight weeks along. Didn’t your husband know?”

I shook my head.

I put the box in my bag, signed my discharge paperwork, and left alone.

As I was leaving the hospital, the publisher sent me a video from the book launch.

Grant stood between Camille and the reporters, promising that Crestwell Group would take responsibility for the controversy.

One reporter asked who mattered more to him—his wife or Camille.

Grant answered calmly, “Vivian is Mrs. Calloway. She should know when to put the bigger picture first. Camille is leading the project. I won’t let her be treated unfairly.”

Below the video, Camille had messaged me.

Camille: [Think he’ll come home to you tonight?]

Camille: [Vivian, being his wife is just a role. I’m the exception.]

I didn’t reply.

When I got home, I signed two documents.

The first revoked Grant’s proxy to vote my shares.

The second was our divorce agreement.

I put my wedding ring, the ultrasound image, and his scoring notebook into the box.

The silver pen went on top.

On the back of the premarital assessment form, I wrote one sentence.

[The baby didn’t make it. They’ll never have to be graded by you.]

At three in the morning, I left with my suitcase.

Grant sent me two messages.

Grant: [The launch is over.]

Grant: [The proxy is in the study. I want your signature by tomorrow morning.]

He still thought I’d be waiting at home like I always had.

I didn’t block him. I sent one last reply.

Me: [Signed.]

Then I powered off my phone and handed my boarding pass for Geneva to the gate agent.

At the same time, my attorney was delivering the proxy revocation, personally signed by me, to Crestwell Group’s board.