Once A Servant, Now A Legend

Chapter Three

The house was dark and still when Genevieve stepped through the door. The echo of applause from the Nasdaq ceremony still rang in her mind.

The flash of cameras, the champagne bubbles, Fred Clinton’s arm around her waist, his voice whispering promises that felt like silk. She could still smell his cologne on her dress.

Now, all that brightness was gone. The air here was heavy, the kind of silence that made her heartbeat sound too loud.

She kicked off her heels at the entryway and dropped her purse on the couch. Her shoulders ached from hours of forced smiles.

Yet she felt oddly restless, like a performer who had just stepped off stage and didn’t know what to do with the quiet, until she saw him.

Jeff Benson sat on the sofa, slouched forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

The table beside him was littered with unopened takeout boxes and a phone that had long stopped buzzing. 

The light from a single lamp hit his face from the side, casting deep shadows beneath his eyes.

He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Genevieve paused, a flicker of guilt rising somewhere deep inside, but it vanished just as quickly.

She crossed her arms and let out a short, dismissive sigh. “Still awake? What, waiting for me like some guard dog?”

Jeff didn’t answer. His eyes were open now, following her every move, but he didn’t speak.

She tossed her coat over a chair and rubbed the back of her neck. “My shoulders are killing me. Come here and give me a massage.”

When he didn’t move, she frowned, her tone sharp. “What’s wrong with you? Too tired after mopping the floors all day?”

Still nothing.

The irritation in her chest deepened. He always looked like that lately, quiet, patient, like he was waiting for something. 

But she didn’t want patience. She wanted energy, warmth, admiration, the kind Fred Clinton gave so effortlessly.

‘Fred would never make me ask. He’d notice the moment I stepped in the room. He’d smile, pull me close, tell me how proud he is of me. Jeff doesn’t even notice when I change my hair.’

The thought stung, and she hated that it did. Jeff’s voice broke the silence, low and strained. “Where were you last night?”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

“You didn’t answer my calls,” he said quietly. “I waited. I called dozens of times. You didn’t come home.”

Genevieve felt her pulse quicken. He’s exaggerating. She’d only stayed out late for the celebration banquet, drinks, toasts, congratulations. Nothing more than what everyone expected of her.

Her tone came out sharper than she intended. “I told you, didn’t I? The company went public. We had a celebration. My phone died. What, do I need to report every step I take to you now?”

He sighed, eyes flicking down. “I’m not asking for a report. I just wanted to know you were safe.”

The softness of his voice made her anger feel childish, and that only made her more defensive. “Well, now you know. I’m safe. Happy?”

Jeff looked at her for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached for his phone on the table. He tapped the screen, and the sound of applause filled the room.

Genevieve froze. On the screen, the video played in crystal clarity, her own image under the bright Nasdaq lights. 

Fred Clinton’s arm sliding around her waist, the crowd cheering as he went down on one knee. The flash of the ring. The kiss that followed.

Her body went rigid. For a second, she forgot to breathe. When Jeff finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “I need an explanation.”

Panic flooded her chest. The air felt too thin. Her mind scrambled for something, anything, but anger came faster than reason.

She strode forward and slapped the phone out of his hand. “What is this? Were you following me? Filming me? Spying on me like some creep?”

The phone hit the floor with a dull thud, the video still glowing faintly. Jeff didn’t flinch. He just stared at her, his expression unreadable. But something in his eyes, something fragile, cracked. “So it’s true,” he said softly.

Her throat tightened. “What if it is?” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “Look at you, Jeff. Look at what you’ve become. You stay at home all day cooking and cleaning, pretending that makes you my husband. I need someone I can stand beside and feel proud of, not someone hiding behind an apron.”

Her words sliced through the room. Jeff didn’t move, didn’t raise his voice. “And that’s your reason for cheating?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. His calmness made her furious. He had no right to sound so composed, so above her.

“If you say it’s true, then fine. It’s true,” she spat.

Jeff exhaled slowly, as if releasing the last bit of hope he’d been holding. Then he reached into the drawer beside him and pulled out a folder. He placed it on the table.

“I prepared this last night,” he said evenly. “When I saw the video, I wanted to believe it was fake, some rumor, a trick to ruin your reputation. I spent all night convincing myself it wasn’t real. But now…” He looked at her, eyes steady but hollow. “Now I don’t have to guess.”

He signed his name and pushed the papers toward her. “Divorce papers. I’m not the kind of man who clings. I won’t make this ugly. You can keep your reputation, your freedom, your new life, whatever it is you want.”

Genevieve stared at the documents. The words blurred together: Divorce. Freedom. New life.

Then something ugly flared inside her, rage. How dare he look so calm? How dare he decide this?

Her lips twisted into a sneer. “So this is it? You just give up? You’re that weak? I step out once and suddenly you want to play the noble martyr?”

He said nothing.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be dignified now,” she snapped. “You think signing a few papers makes you look strong? Pathetic. You’ve been jealous of my success from the start, haven’t you? Now you finally found an excuse to quit, like you always do.”

Jeff’s brows furrowed slightly, but he still didn’t speak.

Her voice rose, sharp and venomous. “You can’t handle a woman who outshines you! That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You never could stand that I was better than you!”

“Genevieve,” he said quietly.

“Don’t you dare say my name like that!” she shouted, slamming her hand on the table. The papers fluttered to the floor. “You think you can walk out and I’ll beg you to stay? Don’t fool yourself. Men like you are replaceable. Forgettable.”

He straightened his coat. “Calm down. Think about what you want. I’ll come back in three days for your answer.”

She laughed, cold, humorless. “Don’t bother. You won’t even get past the gate.”

Jeff didn’t look back as he headed for the door. “Jeff!” she barked. “If you walk out that door today, don’t even think about coming back! You’ll regret it!”

He didn’t turn around. The door clicked shut. The sound made her snap.

She swept the divorce papers off the table, scattering them across the floor, then grabbed a glass and hurled it against the wall. It shattered, water splashing across the carpet.

Her chest heaved. “You think you can leave me?” she hissed into the empty air. “You’ll see who regrets this.”

Her eyes burned, not with tears, but with fury. “You’ll crawl back, Jeff Benson. You’ll see me on every screen, every headline, and you’ll wish you hadn’t let me go.”

The silence swallowed her words, but she didn’t care. She stood there breathing hard, glaring at the closed door, her pride refusing to bend even as her world tilted beneath her.

“Fine,” she muttered. “He wants a divorce? I’ll make sure he can’t afford one.”

Her laughter, low, bitter, unhinged, echoed through the empty house.