# Chapter 46 Don't Want to Put Up With: The Moment She Stopped Being a Doormat
The splash echoed through the elegant restroom like a gunshot.
Ingrid Ferguson stood frozen, water cascading down her face, dripping from her chin onto what had once been a breathtaking Dior dress. The eight-figure garment now clung to her body in wet, pathetic folds. Her carefully styled hair hung in dripping ropes around her face.
"You asked for this," Nicole said calmly, setting down the decorative bottle she'd used to deliver justice.
Ingrid's scream tore through the air. "Nicole, how dare you—"
But Nicole didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled—a cold, razor-sharp smile that never touched her eyes. "Do you really think I'll put up with you like before? If you dare provoke me again, I'll teach you a lesson and settle both the new and old accounts together."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. This wasn't the same Nicole who had once swallowed every insult, every sneer, every humiliation. That woman was dead.
Ingrid saw it too—the terrifying coldness in Nicole's eyes that made her shudder despite her rage. But pride, that stubborn Ferguson pride, wouldn't let her back down. How could she, the Young Lady of the Ferguson family, be humiliated at a banquet? How would she face anyone looking like a drowned rat?
With a guttural cry, Ingrid lunged forward, her hand raised to strike.
Nicole was ready. She moved like water, sidestepping with effortless grace. Her hand shot out, catching Ingrid's arm in an iron grip. Then, with her free hand, she grabbed Ingrid's long, wavy hair and pushed forward.
The sink had been filling with water, almost overflowing. Ingrid's face plunged into the basin, sending water splashing everywhere. Her groupie screamed in horror but didn't dare move when Nicole's icy gaze swept over her.
Ingrid thrashed and struggled, but Nicole held firm—not to hurt, but to teach. When she finally released her, Nicole stepped back, not a single drop of water on her own exquisite dress. She looked stunning, untouchable, a goddess of vengeance.
Ingrid, meanwhile, was a wreck. Her hair clung to her face, her makeup ran in dark streaks down her cheeks. She gasped against the wall, staring at Nicole with eyes full of shock and unfamiliarity. This was not the woman she'd known. This was someone entirely new.
"I've already told you," Nicole said, tucking a stray strand behind her ear, her voice calm and deadly. "I won't put up with you anymore. If you mess with me again, you'll pay the price."
She smiled at Ingrid's pathetic state—like a wet dog, she thought with satisfaction—then turned and walked away without a backward glance.
Ingrid only dared to scream after she'd gone.
But Nicole's triumph was short-lived. When she looked up, her heart stuttered.
Eric.
He stood there, watching her. How long had he been there? Had he seen everything?
Nicole's jaw tightened. She looked away and tried to walk past him like he was a stranger.
"Nicole."
The word stopped her cold. She turned, eyebrows raised in mock curiosity. "What's wrong, Mr. Ferguson?"
Without waiting for his reply, she added with a smirk, "Oh, by the way, Ms. Ferguson is inside. But you came too late—she's not presentable enough to come out right now."
The smile vanished from her face, replaced by something clear and cold. "Eric Ferguson, have we ever met in private in the past three years? Have you ever given me a chance?"
The silence that followed was heavy with three years of neglect. Three years of coming home to an empty house while she cooked meals that would go untouched. Three years of sending messages that were never answered. Three years of learning to be alone in a marriage that was never a marriage.
"Wasn't it you who allowed everyone to bully me?" Nicole's voice was steady, but each word was a blade. "Every time we met, you were businesslike. All you ever mentioned was Wendy Quade."
That name. That cursed name that had tormented her through countless sleepless nights.
Suddenly, she was back in their newlywed days. She'd learned to cook, making elaborate meals and waiting for him to come home. She was afraid to disturb his work, so she never called. But when she finally sent a timid text—*Would you like to try my cooking?*—there was never a reply. Not once.
The countless attempts. The repeated rejections. The slow, painful realization that she was always going to be alone in that house.
"You had many opportunities to tell me," Eric said, his voice tight with something that might have been regret.
"So it's my fault?" Nicole sneered. "Mr. Ferguson, you only care about Wendy Quade. How can you tolerate other women? I'm impressed that you care more for her than your marriage. So what's the use of talking about this now?"
"Actually, Wendy is—" Eric started, his brows knitting together.
"That's enough." Nicole's voice cut through his words like a knife. "I'm repulsed by that name. Mr. Ferguson, it's best if we pretend not to know each other in the future."
She walked away on her high heels, not looking back. Her good mood was ruined, the satisfaction of humiliating Ingrid now sour in her mouth.
Outside, Grant was waiting for her. His face was grim—he'd clearly heard about the fight—but when he saw Nicole, relief softened his features.
Nicole forced a smile and hugged his arm. "Is it over? Can we leave early? I'm so tired today."
Grant pinched her nose affectionately. "We can leave if you're tired. There's no need to care about the others."
"Brother's still the best."
"Do you need to tell anyone?"
"No, I've already said my goodbyes." Grant stroked her head. "Let's go. The driver's waiting."
As they walked out, the perfect pair—handsome man, beautiful woman—Ian caught up to them. "Mr. Stanton, do you mind if I tag along?"
Grant's face turned cold. "I do mind. It's out of the way."
Ian was rendered speechless.
Nicole laughed and waved. "See ya later, Carter."
Poor Ian didn't dare push his luck with Grant Stanton. He stood there looking pitiful as the siblings got into their car.
But just as the door was closing, Ian rushed forward in a panic, opening Nicole's door again.
"What are you doing?" Nicole was startled.
Several people near the entrance turned to watch. With Grant's status, a low profile was impossible.
Ian knelt on one knee, carefully lifting the hem of Nicole's dress that had been caught outside the door. He placed it gently inside the car, then looked up at her with a bright smile. "Alright, you can go now. Bye!"
The gesture was humble, almost servile. The crowd watched in stunned silence.
On the second-floor balcony, Keith laughed and nudged Eric. "This lapdog Ian sure has a knack for chasing women, huh? He even dares to flirt in front of Grant Stanton."
Eric's eyes were dull, unreadable. "Let's go. Have a drink with the others."
But as he turned away, something shifted in his chest—a weight he couldn't name, settling deep into his bones.
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## Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
This chapter is a MASTERPIECE of quiet, seething vengeance. Watching Nicole finally unleash three years of pent-up humiliation on Ingrid was deeply satisfying—she didn't just fight back, she *controlled* the fight, moving with a grace and precision that showed this wasn't impulse, but calculated justice.
The emotional gut-punch came with Eric. The flashback to Nicole sending those unanswered text messages, cooking meals that would never be eaten, learning to be alone in a marriage—it broke my heart. She loved him so fiercely, and he dismissed her so completely. Now that she's free, she's not looking back, and he's left standing in the wreckage of his own cruelty, finally feeling the weight of what he threw away.
The ending with Ian's humble gesture was both sweet and bittersweet—Ian treats her better than her husband ever did. The contrast is painful.
**⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars**
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## Next Chapter Prediction
With Eric now confronted by Nicole's cold indifference, I predict he'll start digging into the truth of their marriage—perhaps finally learning about all the text messages she sent, the meals she prepared, the waiting she endured. His guilt will grow, and it won't be long before he tries to make amends. But Wendy Quade is still lurking in the shadows, and the real test will be whether Eric can let go of his obsession with her... or if Nicole will already be too far gone, moving toward someone like Ian (or even someone else entirely) who actually *sees* her worth. Brace yourselves—things are about to get messy.