I Kept the Severance Not Him Chapter 2

Late that night, the front door clicked open, followed by heavy, stumbling footsteps downstairs.

A moment later, Christian slid into bed, smelling strongly of scotch and expensive cigars. He pressed his chest against my back.

"The house is a mess, Rachel. Why didn't you clean up?"

I kept my back to him, refusing to answer.

The sheets rustled as his hands slid under the duvet, tracing a warm, heavy path up my waist.

"Still sulking?" he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. "I told you, it’s just a cat. If you want, I’ll have a local breeder bring over a litter tomorrow and you can pick whichever one you like."

I bit my lower lip, staring hard at the dark wall.

Suddenly, a cold metal weight settled against the bare skin of my collarbone. I looked down to find a delicate diamond necklace draped over my chest.

He let out a low chuckle. "Happy seventh anniversary. See? I didn't forget."

But I had seen this exact necklace just a few hours ago on Amber’s social media. She had posted a picture of it with the caption: "What do you do when a gift is super ugly? Will he be mad if I return it? Seriously, who actually wears such outdated stuff anymore?"

So, it was a hand-me-down. A discarded consolation prize.

I reached up, ripped the necklace off, and flung it back at him.

"I don't like it. I don't want it."

Christian’s face darkened instantly. He grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

"You'll take it and like it. When did you become so demanding?"

He was too close. The strong, cloying scent of cheap, sweet perfume clinging to his collar hit my nose, and my stomach violently rebelled.

Before I could stop myself, I dry-heaved and threw up all over his chest.

Christian stared down at his ruined silk shirt in disbelief. He looked up, his eyes cold and disgusted.

"Look at yourself, Rachel," he said, shaking his head. "You're acting like a crazy woman."

The roar of his car engine echoed from the driveway. He was gone.

I pulled the duvet over my head and, for the first time in seven years, slept peacefully.

No waking up at dawn to press his shirts. No preparing a multi-course breakfast. No middle-of-the-night feedings for a cat that wasn't there.

I lingered in bed, enjoying the stillness.

Then, the phone rang.

Christian's voice cut through the receiver, sharp and authoritative.

"Since you're so desperate to see Barnaby, go over to Amber's place. She hates scooping the litter box anyway. Go clean it out for her."

I looked at the open suitcase on my bedroom floor, still waiting to be packed.

"I'm busy," I said, my voice deadpan. "I don't have time."

On the other end of the line, he let out a dry laugh.

"Busy? You? Rachel, you don't even have a job. What could you possibly be busy with? I pay for the roof over your head and everything you eat, and you can't even do this one small thing for me?"

My grip tightened around the phone. A crushing sense of exhaustion settled deep into my chest.

Seven years of devotion. It wasn't that he didn't care. It was that he literally didn't see me. I was invisible to him, a utility that came with the house.

I hung up on him.

But in the end, I went anyway. Just once, I wanted to see if Barnaby was doing okay without me.

The moment I arrived at the luxury high-rise apartment, a housekeeper stopped me at the foyer.

"Oh, you must be the girl he hired to clean up after the cat," she said, tossing a pair of blue disposable shoe covers at my feet. "Put those on before you walk in. And don't touch anything belonging to Ms. Amber."

I stared down at the thin plastic shoe covers, my hands clenching into fists.

"A girl hired to clean up."

So that was how Christian introduced me to his world. A maid.

Amber’s apartment was spacious and immaculate. Christian had spared no expense, apparently. He had hired a full roster of staff for her—one maid for deep cleaning, another specifically to meal prep. He had rented the place for her, too.

"She’s a young girl trying to build a career," he had justified when I noticed the charge on his account statement. "How is she supposed to focus on work if she's bogged down by household chores?"

Yet, when I had approached him months ago, my back aching from scrubbing our four-bedroom house, and asked, "Can we hire a service? The house is just too big for me to manage alone," he had scoffed.

"Are you really telling me you can't even handle a simple house?"

I found Barnaby locked in a small wire crate in the laundry room. He was huddled in the far corner, and when he saw me, he hissed.

It had only been twenty-four hours, but he looked at me like I was a complete stranger.

"Barnaby, sweetie, come here," I cooed, reaching out my hand the way I always did.

He lunged forward, his sharp claws digging deep into the flesh of my forearm.

I gasped, pulling my arm back as beads of blood welled up on my skin. I dropped the bag of treats I had brought.

Suddenly, a strange wave of peace washed over me.

He had only relied on me because I was his only option. Now that he had a luxurious apartment and a new owner, he didn't need me anymore.

Just as I stepped out of the lobby, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was Christian’s mother.

"Rachel, Christian's father is having an episode. You need to get over here right now."