Chapter 8 - The Shadow of the Party
|
Graham didn't push the subject further that night, but the seed of paranoia had taken root in his mind.
Over the next three days, my husband—a man who prided himself on controlling every system within his orbit—began quietly attempting to reconstruct the night of our anniversary.
I watched him from the shadows of our life.
I saw him standing in his private study late at night, staring at his phone, no doubt reviewing the guest list or cross-referencing who had been upstairs in the VIP lounge. I knew he had called his chief of security to ask if the hallway security cameras had been operational during the party.
What he didn't know was that I had personally instructed the catering manager weeks prior to turn off the second-floor cameras so our high-profile guests could enjoy their cigars and high-stakes conversation in total privacy.
He was trapped in his own design.
Meanwhile, I began executing my own quiet quiet reclamation.
For ten years, I had put my career as an architectural interior designer on the back burner, taking on only small, local residential projects so my schedule remained completely open to accommodate Graham’s sudden travel plans, hosting duties, and corporate galas.
On Friday morning, while Graham was out at an early breakfast meeting with his legal counsel, I called a major commercial development firm in Atlanta.
"Mrs. Calloway?" the principal partner greeted me warmly. "To what do we owe the honor?"
"I'm reviewing my studio's availability for the upcoming year, Marcus," I said, sitting at my desk in the sunroom. "You mentioned six months ago that you were looking for a lead design director for the historical restoration of the waterfront hotel in Savannah."
"We were," Marcus said, sound genuinely surprised. "But we assumed you wouldn't want to commit to a project that required you to be on-site three days a week."
"My schedule has opened up considerably," I replied smoothly. "Send over the contract. I'll sign it by Monday."
May you like
As I hung up the phone, I felt a strange, thrilling warmth spread through my chest.
For ten years, I had believed that building a life meant building a vessel for Graham’s success. I was finally beginning to understand that a vessel built for one person is not a marriage—it is merely a cage with very high ceilings.
