"You're right, it isn't appropriate. Elijah, I'm your wife, not your personal assistant, and I'm certainly not a go-between for you and Miss Fox."
"You—"
He seemed to choke on my words. When he recovered, his voice dropped into a warning.
"Don't forget who you are. And don't forget why we got married in the first place."
"I haven't forgotten."
I hung up.
It was the first time I had ever hung up on him.
In the end, I still had the family driver deliver the things to the hospital.
But Elijah didn't come home for three days straight.
On the fourth day, he walked through the door. Cara must have been discharged.
He tossed a folder onto the coffee table—a development proposal for some resort.
"Look it over. Next weekend, you're coming with me for a site visit."
Not a request. An order.
I picked up the folder and flipped through it. The scenery was stunning, the investment potential high.
More importantly, the small town where the resort sat was my mother's hometown—the place I'd loved spending every school break as a child.
I looked up at him.
He sat on the opposite sofa, a faint tension in his eyes that most people would have missed.
Was this supposed to be an olive branch? Or just another whim—like tossing a treat to a pet that needed soothing every now and then?
"I have a doctor's appointment next weekend. A full physical."
I set the folder back on the coffee table.
"Cancel it."
"It was scheduled well in advance. I can't reschedule."
"Naomi!"
His voice shot up, threaded with barely restrained anger.
"Do you have to talk to me like this?"
"How should I talk to you?"
I met his eyes. For the first time, I held them—steady, unflinching.
"Elijah, what exactly do you want from me? To go back to pretending nothing happened? To keep being your puppet, available whenever you snap your fingers and invisible the rest of the time?"
He surged to his feet, his chest rising and falling.
"What do you want?"
What did I want?
I looked at his face—still devastatingly handsome, even twisted with anger.
That face had been untouchable through my entire youth.
Then it became my lawful husband's. And the source of every ounce of pain I'd ever known.
"I don't want anything."
I rose slowly, tilting my chin to meet his gaze. My spine stayed perfectly straight.
"Elijah, the three-year agreement expired a long time ago."
His pupils contracted.
"When we signed it, you said that after three years, we'd be even."
I drew a long, measured breath.
"It's been five years. The Swanson family's debt to the Gilberts is all but repaid. My father's company has been absorbed into Gilbert Group—it doesn't carry the Swanson name anymore, but at least it survived. And my mother's future is secure."
"So."
My voice was quiet, but every syllable was clear.
"Let's get a divorce."
