Breaking Ties and Finding Home

Chapter 1

Elinor Fairchild stepped out of the courthouse and was greeted by a sharp gust of wind that caught her off guard. She coughed a couple of times, stealing a glance at the woman beside her. Evelyn Winters stood tall and composed, her profile taut and distant. Elinor knew her well enough to realize that Evelyn was never one for small talk, but she hadn’t anticipated the extent of her silence. They had just finalized their divorce, with the lawyer rambling on about legal jargon, yet all Evelyn had asked was, "Are you sure?"

In three years of marriage, the conversations between them could be counted on one hand. "Are you sure?" had slipped from Elinor’s lips twice.

One marriage, one divorce.

Elinor let out a long sigh. Was she sure? Just before arriving at the courthouse, doubt still lingered, but now—standing here in the cold—she felt completely certain. This marriage was over, no turning back.

Not that anyone would dare to advise her otherwise. After all, she and Evelyn had kept their union a secret; besides the Winters Estate and her best friend, no one knew. And if her friend found out about the divorce, she would likely drag Elinor to The Rusty Anchor Tavern for a three-day celebration. It was amusing, really, considering her friend had a penchant for only the most beautiful women—Evelyn was not on her radar. Every time the name Evelyn Winters came up, her friend would roll her eyes and scoff, “Evelyn Winters? Give me a break. She’s just your shiny new toy. Honestly, every time I see her, my fingers feel like they’re going numb.”

Numb fingers.

That’s what happened when you hadn’t seen Evelyn in that sheer nightgown, sprawled out in bed.

“Do you need a ride?” Evelyn's unexpected voice pulled Elinor from her thoughts. She turned to find Evelyn clad in a fitted blue blazer, accentuating her slender frame. Underneath, she wore a crisp white shirt, one button undone, revealing the graceful curve of her collarbone. While her bosom wasn’t ample, the elegance of her shape caught Elinor's eye. It brought her back to that night when she had kissed Evelyn’s chest to see her cheeks flush with an unexpected warmth, a stark contrast to the icy demeanor she wore now.

“No, I’m good,” Elinor said, pushing a stray hair behind her ear as a pang of sadness washed over her. She glanced once more at Evelyn, who stood stoically with her hands clasped behind her, her long hair still neatly pulled back, a perfect image of composure next to Elinor’s disheveled state.

Evelyn met her gaze, and Elinor added, “I— I have a car.”

As she began to reach for her keys—keys she’d had for the past three years—she paused. They’d surrendered everything earlier today, including the keys, thanks to an ironclad prenup set by Evelyn’s grandfather, who feared Elinor might back out, leaving his granddaughter high and dry. The agreement stipulated that whoever initiated the divorce would leave with nothing. It had always felt like a trap—for Evelyn. But it turned out, Elinor was the one breaking free.

She often wondered if the prenup was the reason Evelyn had stuck around for three years.

Surely it was; that was Winters Estate money on the line. Considering that made her realize just how patient Evelyn truly was.

Elinor swallowed back her thoughts, straightening her posture to look Evelyn in the eye, a clear act of defiance. She had always avoided the intensity of those piercing eyes, feeling them hold a kind of power that intimidated her. Earlier in the marriage, she’d shy away amidst every glance. But now? Now that they were getting divorced, she couldn’t help but find that her fear had been foolish. Had she wronged Evelyn in any significant way? No, absolutely not. It dawned on her then that the relationship had always been unjustly layered against her, a feeling of imbalance that had been simmering under the surface, bound to explode. But now, she finally felt ready to reclaim her life.

Elinor held Evelyn’s gaze, daring to linger for a second before speaking. “I’m going. Benjamin should head back early, too. This three years—” she paused, letting a vague smirk flicker across her lips, "Thanks for the ride."

For a brief moment, surprise flickered in Evelyn’s eyes before it vanished, but Elinor had caught it. She’d always prided herself on being able to read Evelyn’s emotions, every little nuance inviting deep contemplation.

This was the moment, the threshold. In the past, she would have jumped at the chance to get in the car with Evelyn, no questions asked, but now? Now was a different chapter.

She shook her head, brushing her finger across her temple as she walked to the curb, climbing into the first cab that pulled up. “Take me to The Rusty Anchor Tavern, please,” she said, barely containing her breath.

The Rusty Anchor Tavern was where her friend Isabella worked. The bar was still closed at this hour, and she could see a few early patrons scattered about, the lights kept dim to create an inviting, cozy atmosphere. Elinor snagged a seat towards the back, and Isabella leaned against the nearby couch, bottle and glass in hand, raising her chin as if to say, “Really? You did it?”

Elinor nodded, grabbing the wine from her friend’s hand and pouring a generous glass for herself. “Yep, I really did.”

Isabella’s energy surged. “Now that’s something! You finally did something right. Tell me everything—what changed your mind?”

Elinor took a sip, savoring the taste, before shrugging nonchalantly. “Just had a lightbulb moment, I guess.”

Chapter 2

Elinor Fairchild hadn't lied; she really had had a breakthrough, an epiphany. The night before her trip, she was still pondering what kind of gift would be acceptable for Evelyn Winters. Despite the fact that about ninety percent of the things she bought ended up being sent back, it had become a ritual of sorts—one she felt compelled to uphold. This trip was more of an adventure than a vacation, one that nearly cost her dearly. Thankfully, she returned unscathed, clutching the most striking flower she'd found on the cliff's edge, which she pressed into a specimen to give to Evelyn. Predictably, it was returned.

Now, as she gazed at the vivid, dried petals displayed on her coffee table, a feeling of absurdity washed over her. She realized, for the first time in years, that she'd been living like a punchline. It was in that moment that the thought of divorce bloomed in her mind.

From that point on, there was no turning back. Riding the wave of determination, she marched right up to Evelyn and declared her intention to split. "And I don’t want a dime," she added fiercely, prepared to leave with nothing.

"Now that's a bold move," Isabella Langford said, raising her glass in a toast. After a moment of surprise, she smirked and added, "I honestly expected you to drag this out forever."

Isabella had been shocked when Elinor first mentioned that she wanted a divorce. She knew better than anyone how much Elinor had adored Evelyn. Elinor would have given her very heart to Evelyn, and now here she was, ready to throw in the towel. Isabella had thought those were just words, yet here was Elinor, acting swiftly as if determined to follow through.

Isabella lifted her drink and clinked it against Elinor's. "So, what's your game plan now?"

Elinor's parents had passed away during the summer before her senior year of high school, and she had been taken in by the Winters family, living on their estate for several years. She got married to Evelyn soon after joining the workforce and promptly slipped into the role of the perfect housewife, canceling all her gigs and signing off with the Hawkstone Agency. For three years, she had remained mostly indoors, burying herself in the Fairchild Residence, mastering the art of cooking and dutifully learning how to be a spouse. Now, she finally said, "I'll rent a place to start with, maybe tap into some old contacts."

With both her parents gone, the government had purchased their land, and all the buildings had been demolished. Elinor had received a sum of money that she had barely touched, and it still sat in her account. After deliberation, Isabella suggested, "Why not crash at my place for a bit?"

Elinor turned her head slightly. "You sure that's cool?"

Isabella was a wild spirit, notoriously known for her ever-changing carousel of lovers. Elinor recalled a birthday celebration where she ended up at Isabella's pad after a couple of rounds too many. She had awoken the next day to find Isabella and her girlfriend half-dressed, rummaging for attire. When Isabella saw the look on her face, she'd simply waved a dismissive hand and said, "You didn’t see anything, just go back to sleep."

Elinor had felt her face flush with embarrassment. Sleep? How could she possibly sleep through that?

Isabella flopped onto the sofa beside her, "Seriously, what's the big deal?" After taking a sip of her drink, she added, "Just wear a couple more clothes around, okay?"

"Why's that?" Elinor responded, still skeptical.

Isabella set down her glass, leaning forward with mock seriousness, "I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself."

Elinor just stared, completely speechless.

Isabella was notorious for her obsession with beauty; she was incapable of resisting a pretty face. And Elinor—well, she fit the bill perfectly. Tall, porcelain skin, and the kind of curves that would make anyone do a double-take. When Isabella had first pursued Elinor, it had taken an absurd amount of effort, only to be met with a swift rejection: "I’m in love with someone." That had kicked Isabella into the "friend zone," but seeing Elinor's heart so clearly tethered to Evelyn had cooled her initial zeal. Elinor was hopelessly devoted, and the more she adored Evelyn, the more Isabella's irritation grew, especially after learning about Elinor's emotional struggles due to Evelyn's stonewalling. Now that Elinor and Evelyn were no more, the tension had finally lifted.

Isabella grinned, "I was just teasing you. You're welcome to stay—just punch in the code you know, grab a room. There's plenty."

For once, Elinor didn’t refuse. Instead, she replied, "I’ll think about it."

"Think about it? Come on, it’s not like you have other options," Isabella rolled her eyes and refilled their glasses. "Let’s toast. Have you packed anything?"

Elinor took a sip, feeling the warmth spread through her, her cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol. "I didn’t take anything.”

“Wow,” Isabella sighed dramatically, “the ultimate devoted wife! What do I even say to that?"

Elinor couldn’t deny it. She had left everything behind, but in her mind, it was clean break: if she was going to divorce, she wanted it to be total and complete.

"That’s right," Isabella agreed, "let’s drink to that."

They clinked their glasses together, and Elinor took a hearty gulp, the fiery sensation spreading from her throat down into her belly, leaving her eyes watering. Isabella, watching her, shook her head and poured them both another round. It wasn’t long before they were sprawled on the sofa, surrounded by the music and chatter of the bar, where a singer had begun to warm up for her set.

“Hey, Elinor,” Isabella said, her gaze drifting to the stage.

Elinor turned her bleary eyes toward her. “Yeah?”

“Are you really not going to regret this divorce?”

A haze of memories washed over Elinor, and after a pause, she responded, “Definitely."

Regret for not sleeping with her that night, instead of being the one left behind.

Chapter 3

Elinor Fairchild had shared an intimacy with Evelyn Winters—a fleeting moment that lingered uncomfortably in her mind. It happened a month ago, the first and only time, amidst the chaos of life and the shadows of family illness. Evelyn's grandfather had been hospitalized; his declining health drew them both to Winters Estate in a somber atmosphere. He’d pushed everyone else away, grasping Elinor and Evelyn’s hands in his trembling grip, his eyes crying out a lifetime of regret. “In this life, I have no wishes left. The only thing I want is to see you both have a child.”

Elinor’s mouth opened, but she had no idea how to respond. They’d been married for three years, and there hadn’t been enough opportunities for even a touch, let alone a meeting. She never found the words, and neither did Evelyn. The conversation hung between them, thick and uncomfortable, until the old man’s sorrowful gaze bore into them, demanding, “So, will you have children or not?”

Have children.

Did she truly hold that decision in her hands?

Something inside Elinor flickered to life; perhaps it was the weight of the old man’s regret that struck a chord deep within her. On the way back, instead of heading to her office, she directed the driver to take them back to Winters Manor.

Winters Manor, gifted by the grandfather as a wedding present, was supposed to be their little paradise. Instead, it had morphed into Elinor's solitary prison, a place where shadows loomed larger than hopes. Evelyn’s dark eyes regarded her with an intensity that pierced through the silence. “Do you want this?”

It wasn’t clear whether she meant a child or simply... this—whatever it was they had together. The answers, however, felt indistinguishable to Elinor. She wanted Evelyn. She wanted children. And so, succumbing to her heart, she nodded. Evelyn scrutinized her for what felt like an eternity before finally saying, “You should go take a shower.”

No one could have predicted that their wedding night would unfurl nearly three years into their marriage, just a month shy of the impending divorce.

“Perfect” felt like the wrong word, really. Both were novices in this realm, clueless and awkward. The first half of the evening was riddled with exploration, shy touches, and tentative glances, while the latter half offered a hint of pleasure—mostly on Elinor’s side. Meanwhile, Evelyn seemed to be the one fumbling through the dark, while Elinor simply savored the moment. Clenching a glass of wine, Elinor thought, if only she’d known they were destined to cut ties just a month later, she would’ve made the most of that night. At the very least—

“Elinor.” Isabella Langford’s sharp heel jabbed into her leg, pulling her from her thoughts. “Your phone's buzzing.”

Elinor shook herself, sitting up straight. The bar was roaring with noise now, people swaying to the pulse of the beat, couples stumbling into one another at the dance floor. Across from her, two girls locked in a kiss. “I’ve got to get to work,” Isabella said, yawning. “If you’ve got nothing going on, just hang out a bit longer. If you’re not feeling it here, my place is open.”

Elinor knew very well bars weren’t her scene, not with the stench of liquor hanging thick in the air. Beyond that, the last thing she wanted was to harbor the shame of intoxicating scents that would die hard. She remembered how she wished to thump her fist against her forehead whenever Isabella brought it up; Evelyn barely visited their joint apartment at Winters Manor, much less cared about the alcohol stench.

“Phone, Elinor. Your phone,” Isabella repeated, nudging her again.

With a sigh, Elinor fished her phone out of her bag. The name on the screen made her freeze for a moment. She glanced back up at Isabella. “I’m going to head out.”

Isabella nodded. “Okay. Need a ride?”

Elinor managed a half-hearted smile. “I’ve had a few drinks.”

“Right. Good call. Just get home safe, then,” Isabella said, tapping her phone and disappearing into the crowd.

Elinor stepped outside, instantly hit by the biting chill of the wind that threatened to knock her off balance. Standing beneath the flickering neon sign of a nearby ramen shop, she pressed the phone to her ear. “Hey, Alice Hawthorne.”

Alice’s laughter echoed through the line. “I told you to drop the formalities! Just call me Alice. By the way, did you get a chance to look at the script?”

Elinor winced, massaging her temples. The hectic whirlwind of divorce had consumed her time; she hadn’t even managed a glance at the script yet. Embarrassment prickled at her. “Not quite done, I’ve been—”

“Busy, right? Can I get your answer before the day after tomorrow?”

“Director’s on my case about casting.”

“I get it. No rush, Elinor. Just make sure to read it properly. If something’s unclear, call me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, Elinor replied, “Thanks, Alice.”

“Stop being so formal! Just call me Alice!” she chided playfully.

Elinor chuckled awkwardly. “Alright, Alice.”

“Perfect. I’ll be waiting for your call then.”

The wind whirled harshly, chilling her to the bone, and Elinor realized she was shivering. “Okay, talk soon. Bye.”

Once she hung up, the cold settled in around her. Alice was someone she met during a recent trip. They’d shared a tour group. Initially, Elinor had been self-conscious—worried about being recognized as an actress. But as she came to terms with not being in the limelight, she tossed the mask aside. She rarely traveled, just a couple of trips a year. It was during their latest journey that she stumbled upon Alice—a stranger turned friend, thanks to a broken water heater and a shared conversation in their hotel rooms.

“I know you,” Alice had said, standing in the doorway after her shower. “You’re Elinor, the one who played Aldric Howard.”

Chapter 4

Elinor Fairchild was surprised that anyone even remembered her from her acting days. It had been four years since she’d last appeared on screen, but acting had been one of her few passions, so when Alice Hawthorne struck up a conversation, it felt like a serendipitous moment. Alice was chatty, and they quickly dove into discussions about Elinor's past on set, the intricacies of scriptwriting, and the wild world of showbiz. By the end of the night, Alice dropped the bombshell: she was also a screenwriter, known in the industry as Charles Hawthorne.

Elinor was taken aback.

Though she had been out of the spotlight for some time, she still kept an ear to the ground about entertainment news. The name Alice didn’t ring any bells, but she had heard of Charles Hawthorne—the golden child of screenwriting. Any script that bore her touch was destined for blockbuster status. Actors who collaborated with her could expect awards to come rolling in, but she remained an enigma. In a world where personalities shone brightly, she preferred to lurk in the shadows, sparking whispers and speculation. No one knew if she was male or female—every artist who had worked with her clammed up, aware that throwing shade on Charles Hawthorne could jeopardize their careers.

Elinor had thought this was some sort of prank; who would be so bold as to identify themselves as the elusive Charles Hawthorne to someone they'd barely met? Yet, the next day, reality slapped her when she saw Alice chatting with a renowned director, and she pointed right at Elinor. “That’s her! I think she’s perfect for the role,” Alice said, making Elinor’s heart race in disbelief.

The truth sunk in—this was indeed the mysterious Charles Hawthorne. As she replayed the scene in her mind, she realized her jaw had dropped like a cartoon character. Not only had she met a legend, but she had also come away with a new script. Alice smiled and said, “I really think this role would suit you. If you’re interested, just give me a call.”

The script was the only item Elinor brought back with her from the apartment, tucked safely in her bag. Standing in the cool breeze, clarity began to wash over her—a slight headache was the only hindrance. She wasn't a regular drinker; there was a time when Isabella Langford liked to joke about her being the archetypal good wife, but it was only partly true because of Evelyn Winters. The real reason was her aversion to alcohol.

The bar’s entrance was a flurry of activity as patrons came and went, casting glances her way. Elinor stood tall, with her figure accentuating her curves. Most of her face was hidden from view by the lighting, but the exposed skin was pale and flawless, a beauty by anyone's standards. A few guys nudged each other before one of them, a young man around twenty-three, approached, holding up his phone. “Hey, miss, can I get your Messenger?” he asked, a touch of eagerness in his voice.

She turned slightly to assess him. He looked clean-cut in a jacket, with bright skin and an inviting aura. Behind him, others gazed at her with curiosity. Elinor smiled politely. “Sorry, it's not a good time.”

The guy flinched back, caught off-guard. He stuttered, “Uh, um, sorry to bother you,” his face flushing deep red.

Elinor couldn't help but chuckle at his innocence. The bar’s lighting cast a golden hue on her profile, and she could almost hear the collective intake of breath from the crowd behind him. She gave a friendly nod, then stepped towards the road to hail a taxi.

“Gorgeous.”

“So stunning.”

“Isn’t she just wow?”

“Wait, doesn’t she look a bit familiar?”

One guy resting his chin in his palm chimed in, “I couldn’t shake the feeling she resembles someone I know.”

The rest turned to him, transfixed. He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “I think she looks a lot like Elinor Fairchild.”

Later that night, Elinor returned to Isabella Langford’s inviting villa, choosing a guest room for herself. It was kept clean by staff, so despite the absence of occupants, the linens were fresh and crisp. She lay on the bed for a moment, staring out the window.

The moon hung like an oval jewel above the trees, and suddenly, she found herself recalling that night spent with Evelyn Winters. The moonlight had been just as bright then, illuminating Evelyn's delicate features—the soft arches of her brows and those piercing eyes that softened under a touch of tenderness after a kiss. Elinor remembered the shivers that danced over her skin as Evelyn’s nose brushed against her cheek, and how her cool words belied the warmth that enveloped her heart.

Elinor closed her eyes, feeling the alcohol’s effects tugging at her consciousness. The image of Evelyn’s moonlit silhouette lingered—a figure of porcelain skin, flawless and radiant, closing the distance between them, her hands exploring Elinor’s waist, inching closer…

Suddenly, her phone's ringtone jarring her from the reverie. Elinor jolted upright, shaking her head as she answered. “Hello?”

Silence washed over the line for a few seconds before a voice broke through. “Elinor.”

Frowning, she recognized that voice, a wave of hesitation washing over her. “Julia? Is that you? Thomas Everett?” she asked, caught off guard.

Chapter 5

If you were to ask Elinor Fairchild who she owed a lasting debt of guilt to, it would be Thomas Everett. Thomas had been the one to push her up the ladder of success, showering her with opportunities, only to have her cut ties with him when she decided to leave the industry.

Life in the spotlight often felt inherently unfair. Some people stood in the limelight, effortlessly drawing attention, while others struggled their whole lives without ever making a name for themselves. Elinor Fairchild was definitely the former—when she stepped into the glow of the stage, she shined.

Her rise was meteoric, unlike many young actresses who clawed their way to the top. She’d been plucked from her college, a junior when a director visited her campus, and offered a film role before she even graduated. Landing a part in a movie right off the bat was a dream come true for countless aspiring stars. Although she wasn’t playing the lead, her first film had propelled her into the public eye. Soon, Elinor was the talk of the town, with talent agencies and managers clamoring to work with her. It was then that Thomas Everett, her manager, proudly proclaimed to his colleagues, “Look at this gem I discovered.”

Thomas had genuinely dedicated himself to building her career, constantly scouting for roles, accompanying her to auditions and events. At the time, she had another client, Ada Fairfax, whom she had passed on to a colleague to focus all her energy on Elinor. In a twist of fate, Ada surged to fame and had just snagged a major award, all while Thomas became the butt of industry jokes. "How's that working out for you, Thomas?" people would tease on social media, mocking the outcomes of his mentoring.

Even during her hiatus from acting, she wasn’t let off the hook. Ada’s fans tormented her online, hurling insults like, “Failing actress,” and “Guess you couldn’t cut it, huh?” The vitriol reached a point where they speculated on her private life, suggesting she must have been involved with someone rich to afford her early retirement.

During that time, she had thought she was living her best life after marrying her dream partner, only to be doused with a bucket of cold water when reality set in.

Elinor carried heavy guilt towards Thomas. But when she decided to make her comeback, she hadn’t planned on contacting him—until he reached out first.

“Julia Everett, how have you been?” Elinor said, wetting her lips nervously as she adjusted in her seat.

Thomas’s voice came through, low and slightly raspy from years of smoking. “Same old. Heard from old Oliver that you’re coming back.”

Old Oliver was a former colleague from their agency, and Elinor had sent out feelers to several agencies, including his. So, it wasn’t surprising that news had made its way to Thomas.

“Yeah, things are in motion,” Elinor replied, light streaming through her window, bathing her in a warm glow as she leaned forward. “I’m ready.”

“Thought it through?” Thomas asked, his tone now serious.

Elinor felt her pulse quicken, a familiar mix of anxiety and excitement swirling up from her stomach. “I have.”

“Want me back on your team?”

She hesitated, taken aback by the eagerness in her heart. “You’d still want to work with me?”

“Doesn't matter what I want. I’m free right now, and if you’ll have me, I’d love to meet up tomorrow.” Thomas had had a rough go at it. His focus on her had pushed him away from Ada, whose talent exploded once they parted. Thomas had been sidelined within the agency ever since, stuck with no major accounts or resources. It was a long fall from grace. Hearing about Elinor’s return reignited an old flame in him.

Elinor had always sensed a spark in their dynamic. From day one, she knew she belonged in this world, and she was relieved to know that Thomas hadn’t been wrong about her.

“Thank you, Julia. I really appreciate it. Tomorrow works for me,” Elinor said, emotions swelling in her chest.

“Looking forward to it,” Thomas replied, without hesitation.

After they hung up, sleep eluded Elinor. Thoughts raced through her mind, a chaotic stampede of what lay ahead. Finally, unable to settle, she decided to take a shower at The King’s Rest, the hotel hosting her. She’d just finished cleaning up after Isabella Langford and her girlfriend, both tipsy after a night of revelry, when she returned to her room, utterly spent. While fatigue washed over her, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

In her dreams, it wasn’t the dazzling promise of stardom that haunted her—it was Evelyn Winters. Elinor found herself back in the early days of their marriage, where she would happily play the role of the devoted wife. Cooking dinner, she’d eagerly await Evelyn’s return, only to be met with the cold detachment of a text.

—Stuck in a meeting, can’t make it home.

—Out of town for work.

Each message stung like a cold wind through a cracked window. She had thought that love would conquer all, yet all she felt was the chill of loneliness—an everlasting ache that seemed to linger as she slept.

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