Chapter 6 - The Desperate Voicemails And The 100 Red Roses Sent To The Wrong Address
Back in Manhattan, Preston was descending into madness.
Having been evicted from his corporate office and abandoned by his mistress, he returned to the empty penthouse. The silence was deafening. Every room reminded him of what he had thrown away.
He sat on the floor of the half-finished nursery, surrounded by the tiny baby clothes, his phone pressed to his ear as he dialed my old number over and over again, only to hear the automated operator:
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
Desperate, he called Julian Mercer’s law firm forty times in a single afternoon.
When Julian finally accepted a call, Preston broke down into hysterical weeping.
“Julian! Please, I am begging you! Tell Evelyn I love her! Tell her I will go to therapy! I will sign any postnuptial agreement she wants! I will give up all my shares! Just let me see my pregnant wife! Let me be there when my son is born!”
Julian’s response was cold and unwavering. “Mr. Langford, Ms. Hart has made her decision. Any further harassment will result in immediate criminal contempt charges. Goodbye.”
In a desperate bid to win public sympathy and manipulate me through the media, Preston ordered one hundred long-stemmed Ecuadorian red roses to be delivered to the penthouse every morning, tipping off paparazzi to photograph him carrying baby supplies into church services.
He went on a popular morning television talk show, wiping away fake tears as he looked into the camera:
“Evelyn, if you’re watching this... our marriage was under immense corporate pressure. I made mistakes, but our love is stronger than any misunderstanding. Please come home. Let our son have his father.”
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Watching the broadcast from the quiet living room in Vermont, I felt nothing but profound pity for a man so thoroughly enslaved by his own narcissism.
I picked up the remote, turned off the television, and walked out onto the snowy terrace to breathe the fresh mountain air.
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