I eventually sobered up, though the world still tilted faintly around me. The chill of the night air outside the bar had been bracing, cutting through the fog in my head. Leander hadn’t spoken much on the drive, and I hadn’t forced conversation either. He simply steered the car, steady hands on the wheel, while I stared out the window, letting the neon lights blur into streaks and the cityscape dissolve into numb silence.
When the car slowed to a stop in front of the house, I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse, “Thank you, Leander. For everything tonight.”
He gave me a gentle smile, one that didn’t ask for anything in return. “Always, Al. You know that.”
I pushed the door open, my body heavy with exhaustion, but froze as soon as my feet touched the ground.
Lucien stood at the entrance, shadowed by the porch light. His arms were folded tight across his chest, his jaw hard as stone. The fury radiating from him was almost tangible, and when he finally spoke, his words tore through the night like sharpened glass.
“Are you cheating on me?”
I blinked, stunned into stillness. For a moment, I thought my drunken haze had conjured hallucinations. But the intensity in his eyes told me otherwise. A laugh slipped out of me then—not a sound of humor, but one of disbelief, bitter and cracked.
“The audacity,” I muttered under my breath, stepping closer so I could meet his stare head-on. “What in the world are you talking about?”
He didn’t hesitate. He raised his phone, thumb pressing play.
On the screen was a shaky video, followed by a photo. Me. Leaning heavily against Leander, arms draped around his shoulders. Laughing. Slurring. Unsteady. To anyone else, it looked like intimacy. To me, it had only been survival—a desperate need for balance, for something solid to hold onto. But I knew immediately who had captured it. Selene.
“Who is this man?” Lucien demanded, his voice iron. “And why are you draped all over him like that?”
I clenched my jaw, my reply sharp. “You know him. That’s Leander. A close friend of mine since college. You’ve met him before.”
“So what?” Lucien snapped, eyes narrowing. “Haven’t I already told you to stay away from your so-called friends?”
“I was at a graduation gathering,” I said evenly, though the calm in my voice was forced. “It was a farewell party.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” His words were spit like accusations, not questions.
I drew in a shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you cared anymore, Lucien.” My voice fell quiet. “If you’ll excuse me… I’d like to sleep now.”
But he blocked my path, stepping into my way. “No. We’re not finished here.”
I stared at him, bone-deep exhaustion weighing on me. “What more do you want from me?”
“I want to know the truth,” he bit out. “Are you cheating?”
“No.” My reply was clipped, almost lifeless. “I am not.”
His gaze hardened, dark suspicion gleaming in his eyes. “If I ever find out you’re lying to me, Elowen, you know what’s at stake. You’ll destroy my reputation.”
This time, I looked at him—really looked at him, every detail of his face illuminated by the porch light. “How exactly would I ruin your reputation?” I asked, my tone dry. “No one even knows I’m your wife. To the world, you’re a bachelor. Or worse, they think Selene is the one you’ve chosen. Only a handful of your closest friends even remember my name.”
“That’s irrelevant!” he snapped. His voice cracked with authority, with control. “When you married me, that meant sacrifices. No male friends. No closeness with anyone else. I am your husband. Start behaving like a proper wife.”
The silence that followed fractured around us like a broken mirror.
Then his voice turned cold, devoid of emotion. “From now on, you’re not allowed to leave this house. Not for several days. Do I make myself clear?”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. Instead, I simply released a sigh—long, tired, emptied of fight. Without another word, I brushed past him and walked inside.
Why was he like this? Was it arrogance? Ego? Pride? Or something darker, something I could never name? I would never truly know.
But that night, as the house settled into silence, I remained awake. My hands shook as I picked up the phone and dialed a number I had been holding in reserve.
The quietest words I had ever spoken slipped from me: “I’d like to file for divorce.”
And with that, the real countdown began.
The following days blurred into a haze. I became nothing more than a shadow, moving silently from one corner of the house to another. Meanwhile, Selene reigned like royalty, orchestrating every aspect of Lucien’s upcoming birthday celebration with glee, strutting through the halls like a queen preparing for her coronation.
And me? I endured. I waited. I packed in silence.
The night before the party arrived, and I stood alone in my room, my suitcase stationed by the door—my entire existence condensed into one worn bag.
Selene appeared then, leaning against the doorway with her arms folded, lips painted the color of triumph. Her eyes glittered with satisfaction as her voice cut through the stillness.
“Make sure you never step foot here again,” she said sweetly, with the sharpness of a knife hidden beneath the sugar. “Do you understand me?”
I met her gaze unflinchingly. “I would never come back,” I told her, my voice steady. “You don’t need to worry. He’s yours for the rest of your life.”
And I meant every syllable.
Before I left, I approached the bedside table and carefully set down the remnants of a life that had already ended.
The signed divorce documents.
My wedding band.
A gift I had scrimped and saved for—a vintage watch he once admired in passing.
And a small box filled with pieces of memory: photographs, handwritten notes, a dried rose pressed from our very first date.
Maybe he would toss it all away. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice.
It no longer mattered. I was finished.
The next morning, I arrived at the airport before dawn, the sky still draped in darkness. I sat quietly, watching planes roar down the runway, engines lifting them into freedom.
Pulling out my phone, I typed what I intended to be my final message to him:
“Sorry, I won’t make it to your birthday celebration. I’m leaving for an artist affair.”
I hit send quickly, shutting off the device just as the plane began its slow crawl forward. Only later would I realize the error—that the word “artist” had somehow been deleted before I pressed send.
When I turned my phone back on again, the screen exploded with notifications. Dozens of missed calls. Frantic messages. Every single one from Lucien.
And I froze.
