Bet

Tristan

Numbness washed over me as I turned to gather a few personal possessions into my old canvas shoulder bag - the ratty flannel shirt Vivian used to tease me about but secretly loved, my favorite coffee mug that always made her smile, the Moleskine notebooks filled with story ideas I would sketch out late at night when insomnia kept me up.

Just a handful of the everyday items that contained a thousand little memories of our life together. My life, which had imploded in the span of one excruciating hour.

“And just where do you think you’re going with those bags?” Linda's sharp voice cut through the haze like a whip crack.

I froze, the frayed straps of my bag clutched in one hand. “I...I was just going to take some clothes and my notebooks...” I stammered, shrinking under her piercing glare.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “You forfeited any claim to possessions in this household when you signed those papers. The only things leaving this house will be the clothes currently on your back.”

Her pronouncement landed like a physical blow. I stared at her in naked dismay, grappling to process this final humiliation. The woman I had loved more than life itself was discarding me with less care than most people showed last year’s outdated appliances banished to the garage. Even the most basic of my personal effects were now off limits to me.

When I didn’t immediately comply, Helen demanded imperiously, “Well? Don’t just stand there gaping. Hand over your house keys and go.”

I turned beseechingly to Vivian one last time, silently pleading for mercy, for her to put a stop to this callousness. But she continued staring stonily at the wall, refusing to meet my gaze even as her mother systematically stripped away the last shreds of my dignity.

The cold truth crashed down on me then. The person I adored more than anyone on this earth didn't want me anymore. I had well and truly lost her.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I fished the house keys from my pocket and placed them in Vivian's silently outstretched palm, avoiding contact with her skin I had once caressed so tenderly. The elegant hand I had slipped a wedding ring onto just a few years ago closed over the metal without hesitation. I may as well have been returning borrowed garden shears for all the emotion she showed.

"My car..." I started weakly, grasping at straws now. The old hatchback contained most of my clothes, my laptop...not that those were significant to Vivian's anymore either.

"Stays here too. We'll have your things sent to you," she said dismissively, still refusing to meet my eyes.

I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat. So this was it then - the absolute death knell of everything we had once meant to each other. She couldn't even grant me the dignity of leaving this house I had helped pay for with a single suitcase to my name.

Wordlessly, I turned and left the only home I had ever known or wanted, the slam of the front door echoing with nightmarish finality.

Outside, icy raindrops mingled with the hot tears flowing freely down my cheeks. I stood there aimless and adrift on the sidewalk where we had once shared tender kisses in the golden glow of late summer evenings. My past, present and future had all been wrapped up in the warmth and joy inside that little house. Now it was all gone, the door closed to me forever.

I had nothing left. No home, no possessions, no wife to cling to. My whole world had crumbled to ash in a handful of agonizing minutes.

Briefly, I considered calling my assistant Alex to send a car for me. But I couldn’t bear anyone from my company seeing me like this, soaked and sobbing pathetically from heartbreak.

Before I could decide on somewhere, anywhere to go, a sleek black Tesla pulled up to the curb next to me. The rear door swung open smoothly, and out stepped an older gentleman in a crisp black suit, his thin silver hair meticulously slicked back. Clark, my wealthy grandfather's unflappable butler. I had always liked him as a boy. His assessing gaze took in my wretched appearance.

"Master Levine," he greeted cordially with a short bow. "Your grandfather sent me to collect you straightaway. Please come along." His cultured tone made it clear this wasn't a request.

I stared back at him numbly as the pieces clicked into place. Of course the old man's vast network of informants had already caught wind of my divorce and subsequent ousting. He had been waiting years for me to "come to my senses" and return to the prominent Sterling family fold I had turned my back on long ago. And now, he intended to swoop in and reclaim his prodigal heir in my hour of weakness.

Too heartsick and shell-shocked to resist, I slid into the plush leather backseat without a word. As we pulled smoothly away from the cozy suburban neighborhood that had been my haven, I couldn't resist glancing back one last time at the darling little bungalow that held so many warm memories, now lost to me forever. Goodbye my love, my home, my life.

I turned my face forward again quickly so Clark wouldn't glimpse the fresh tears slipping down my cheeks. "How did you know where to find me so fast?" I asked dully, keeping my eyes averted.

"Your grandfather has kept close tabs on you for some time," Clark replied matter-of-factly, smoothly navigating the rain-slicked streets. "We've been prepared for this...eventuality."

I frowned. Of course. The old man had never approved of my "unsuitable match" to Vivian right from the start. Now it seemed he had finally gotten his wish to reclaim his "wayward" heir without her in the picture. I shouldn't be surprised, and yet the confirmation stung.

We soon pulled up outside the stately Sterling family manor I remembered so well from my youth. I peered warily up at the imposing stone edifice and pristinely manicured grounds, feeling small and very out of place. I hadn't dared set foot in here since I was a defiant teenager still sporting a black eye from my last argument with Grandfather. Returning like this, defeated and discarded, felt unbearable.

Clark must have sensed my trepidation. "Come sir, let's get you inside and settled," he said bracingly, ushering me up the front steps.

Inside, I stood dripping morosely on the marble entryway floor while Clark spoke briskly into his phone, confirming my arrival. Within moments, a small army of maids swooped in, fussing and clucking over my sodden, disheveled state. Before I could react, they had bustled me to a lavish guest suite and stripped off my soaked clothing, leaving me shivering in just my boxers.

One maid tsked in disapproval, holding my faded flannel shirt between thumb and forefinger. “This won’t do at all. Let’s get you looking presentable as a Sterling heir should.”

I endured their ministrations passively as they toweled my hair dry and then combed some sort of product through it, taming my usual unruly mop into a neat, slick style. My glasses were whisked away, and I blinked in surprise as one maid produced contact lenses instead, tutting about how much better I looked without the "hideous spectacles". Next they had me dressed in a designer suit that cost more than three months of my old teaching salary, expertly tailored to fit my lanky frame.

Finally, the maid-army stood back to survey their work, nodding in satisfaction at my polished appearance. Except for the redness rimming my downcast eyes, evidence persisted of the distraught, discarded ex-husband who had arrived here just a short while ago.

Before I could lapse into melancholy again, Clark appeared and firmly escorted me downstairs. As we neared the grand ballroom where sounds of conversation and tinkling glasses drifted out, he paused and turned to me.

"Stand up straight and keep your chin up, sir," he admonished sternly. "You are a Sterling before all else. Never forget that."

Then he threw open the doors and announced loudly, "Esteemed guests, may I present the heir apparent of the Sterling empire, Tristan Reginald Sterling Levine, the Third."

I moved numbly into the glittering throng of Avalon's city elite, feeling utterly exposed as all eyes turned our way. These selectively bred pedigrees of old money were sharks, and the scent of blood was already in the water.

My grandfather, Albert, detached from his inner circle and came over to greet me, undisguised satisfaction glinting in his eyes.

"Welcome home my boy," he proclaimed, giving my shoulder an approving squeeze that made me tense up. "High time you came to your senses and took your rightful place here with the family."

I stood mutely under the scrutiny of the opulent crowd, unable to muster any reaction. I knew how this looked - the prodigal son returning to the fold with his tail between his legs after defiantly marrying beneath his station. It was beyond humiliating.

But I was in no position to resist my grandfather's machinations now. By coming here, I had unwittingly placed my fate into the hands of those who sought to use me for their own ends.

For better or worse, I was a Sterling again now. That choice had been made for me the moment I slid into Clark's car outside Vivian house. Only time would tell if it had been a monumental mistake. But as I met my grandfather's steely gaze, I sensed the die was already cast. The only path forward for me was ahead, never back.

Numbly I allowed myself to be passed around and shown off to the circle of elegantly dressed aristocrats, scrutinizing the family's prodigal son. Their polite smiles and handshakes felt more like the assessing regard of cannibals sizing up their next meal.

I had nothing left except the clothes on my back and the shredded remnants of my broken heart. Now I could only steel myself for whatever lay ahead in this opulent den of sharks and hope I made it through with my soul still intact.

Because if I faltered now, there were plenty here ready to chew me up and spit out the bones without a second thought. My grandfather had set me on an irrevocable course when he sent Clark to collect me tonight.

For better or worse, I had to keep moving forward along that ruthlessly demanding path. No matter the personal cost.