Never Got Over You -Whitney G. Page 0,64

my newest black eye, courtesy of Grant.

“Grant’s been hitting me,” I said softly. “I’m not going to put up with it anymore, so I’ll need you and dad to start giving me my inheritance in installments, a few weeks early. I’ll stay close, but I’m not staying with him anymore.”

She reached out and cupped the right side of my face―gently rubbing her thumb against my cheek. “What did you say to make him do this to you?” she asked.

Her words hung in the air for several seconds, suspended and unanswered. I was certain I’d misheard her, so I asked her to repeat it.

“It must have been something out of line or hurtful,” she said, moving her hand away. “If you refrain from acting that way, he probably won’t do it anymore.”

“He’s done it five times.” I hissed.

“Then don’t let him get to six.” She looked uninterested in my pain, completely detached. “It’s just a mark, Kate. It’ll heal with time and a closed mouth.”

“That’s your fucking advice?” I felt my blood boiling. “I tell you that my husband―who I only married for your benefit―”

“The family’s benefit, Kate.” She cut me off. “Lower your voice.”

“I tell you that he’s abusing me, and you just want me to deal with it?”

“Abuse?” She rolled her eyes. “Five times is not abuse, Kate. That’s an insult to real victims. What you’re going through is nothing new and nothing to cause unnecessary drama about. It’s part of the price you pay for marrying a wealthy and powerful man.” She spoke with a straight face. “Occasionally, you may catch a misdirected hit, but he’ll make it up to you. It’ll never be intentional. That’s just life at this level.”

I stood still, staring at her in utter disbelief. As she continued her twisted spiel, I suddenly realized all the small things I’d never noticed before. Her monthly appointments for her “eye socket beauty massages,” her need to have a make-up artist and full-time spa staff at all times, her love of this lifestyle above anything and anyone else. I saw exactly who I would turn into if I stayed anywhere near this estate. The sad and tragic picture in full color.

This was the final fracture in our cracked relationship, the hit that shattered the glass. I twisted the wedding ring off my finger and threw it out the window.

“Tell Grant I said, fuck him,” I looked into her eyes. “And fuck you, too.” I left the house without looking over my shoulder, without ever wanting to return.

“Please take me to the airport, Mr. Truman,” I said, the moment I returned to the town car. “Please.”

He nodded and opened the back door for me. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and he gave me a look of sympathy.

I had no idea where I was going, what my next move was going to be, but I knew I was done being a Kensington. When we made it to the airport, Mr. Truman—understanding that he’d never see me again, gave me a hug and handed me a few hundred dollar bills.

I tried to give them back, but he refused and drove away.

“How may I help you, Miss?” The agent smiled as I approached the outdoor ticket counter.

“I need to buy a plane ticket to—” I paused. “Where’s the next flight going?”

“Miss, there are hundreds of flights every day.” She tilted her head to the side. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged, holding back tears as I pulled out my credit card. “How about Atlanta? The next flight there.”

“Okay.” She tapped a few keys and swiped my card. “Um, do you have another credit card? This one is declined.”

“That’s impossible.” I shook my head. “Can you run it again?”

She did. Declined.

“One more time, please?”

Declined.

“Maybe you should call your bank,” she said, handing it to me. “Next in line, please!”

I stepped to the side and logged into my bank account—feeling my jaw drop as I saw the numbers.

Zero. Zero. Zero ...

I leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths.

This can’t be happening...

My phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Kate, it’s me.”

“Sarah Kay?”

“I can’t talk long.” Her voice was soft. “Mom just told Dad how you slapped her before walking out of the dinner hall, and she’s officially done with you. She’s in her office cutting off as many ties to you as possible.”

“That’s not what happened.” Tears pricked my eyes. “Please don’t tell me that you’re calling to say goodbye.”

“Never,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I