Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
I’m carefully disentangling myself from her hold when I hear footsteps in the hall, and my pulse kicks into overdrive, blood roaring in my ears like engines at full throttle. My chest tightens, lungs forgetting how to work properly. Every muscle in my body locks, preparing for impact.
My wife finally appears in the doorway, and everything else fades to static.
Sienah.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. She’s lost weight. In just seven days, her cheekbones cut sharper angles, casting shadows that weren’t there before. The delicate skin under her eyes is bruised purple-black, like she hasn’t slept since she left. She’s wearing a simple black dress I don’t recognize. The fabric hangs loose where it should cling, the hem hitting just below her knees instead of mid-thigh like her usual choices. Probably Shayla’s. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, not styled the way she usually prefers, and I can see her fingers trembling where they clutch the doorframe.
She looks fragile. Breakable. Beautiful.
My hands ache with the need to reach for her. To smooth away those shadows, to feel her warmth under my palms, to verify she’s real and not another dream that’ll leave me gasping awake at 3 AM.
Our eyes meet across the room, and for one moment, time stops.
The world narrows to just this: brown eyes meeting brown, ten years of history compressed into a single look. I see everything in that instant. The hurt swimming in her eyes like drowning. The longing she can’t quite hide, her pupils dilating despite herself. The love she can’t quite kill despite what I’ve done to her, shining through the pain like sunlight through storm clouds.
And underneath it all, exhaustion so bone-deep it makes my chest constrict.
My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat echoing in the silence between us. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can only stand here drowning in her eyes while every cell in my body screams at me to go to her.
“Hello, Aivan.”
Two words. Soft. Tentative. Her voice wavers on my name, and I have to lock my knees to keep from crossing to her.
I nod once, the movement sharp and jerky. My throat works, trying to form words—her name, an apology, something—but nothing comes.
Then I turn, movements mechanical, and pull out Myca’s chair. The wood scrapes against marble with a sound like nails on glass. My hand on the chair back grips too tight, knuckles blanching. I help her sit, though every movement feels wrong, like wearing another man’s skin.
Myca’s hand brushes mine as she settles, and I have to fight not to flinch away. Everything about this crawls up my arm: wrong woman, wrong scent, wrong everything.
I can feel Sienah watching. Can feel the weight of her gaze burning into my back. When I glance up, her face has gone pale as bone, and something savage in me purrs with satisfaction.
Good. Let her see what it feels like. Let her understand that leaving has consequences.
(Even as another part of me dies at the fresh pain blooming in her eyes.)
Myca settles herself, crossing her legs so her skirt rides up her thigh. She knows exactly what she’s doing. “Thank you, darling.”
“Shall we?” Adriano’s voice cuts through the tension, but I barely hear him. I’m too aware of Sienah moving to her seat, the whisper of fabric as she sits, the way she won’t look at me again.
The distance between us might as well be an ocean. Three feet of persian rug that feels infinite. I can’t smell her shampoo from here, can’t hear her breathing, can’t feel her warmth. The absence is an ache, like missing a limb.
“Water?” Shayla offers, and I watch Sienah’s throat work as she swallows.
“Please.” Her voice is barely there.
She’s never been this quiet. This contained. In ten years, I’ve never seen her fold into herself like this, trying to take up less space in the world. It’s wrong. Everything about this is wrong.
“So.” Adriano leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Let’s proceed with the mediation attempt before we formalize anything.”
Mediation. As if ten years could be mediated. As if what’s broken between us could be fixed with legal terms. We don’t even have children to fight over. Just ten years of accumulated nothing.
“There’s nothing to mediate,” I hear myself say, though the words feel like swallowing glass. “The terms are simple. She gets what she brought into the marriage—”
“Nothing.” Sienah’s voice cuts through mine, soft but firm. “I brought nothing.”
Our eyes meet again, and this time I see something else in hers. Not just pain or love or exhaustion.
But defeat...and I hate how that terrifies me.
To know that she’s given up.
And to care that she has.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Myca interjects, her voice honeyed poison. “You’ll receive a generous settlement, of course. Aivan’s not heartless.”
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. I watch Sienah’s fingers curl into fists in her lap.