7. You lost me

Madelyn

I didn’t know what Clarissa was thinking, suggesting to my supposed mother-in-law that Dominic should follow me to my ex-husband’s house to pick up my stuff. Out of all people, she had to suggest him. I sat stiff in the passenger seat, sneaking glances at the man beside me. His eyes were locked on the road, dark and unreadable, his jaw tense like he had little patience for whatever mess he was driving into. His hair was neatly parted at the corner, the rest combed smoothly back, not a strand out of place. The kind of man who didn’t even need effort to look put together.

His right hand rested easily on the steering wheel, veins showing, the watch on his wrist catching light whenever he moved. Dominic Connor. The name alone was enough to send women wild. The celebrity crush plastered all over magazines, the one who couldn’t step out without being photographed, rumored or speculated about. I had seen his face in the news too many times, usually linked to Leana Rossy. She always denied their relationship, of course, but the scandals never really stopped following him. Who knew Ava would be the lucky one to actually marry him.

I guess we all had different tastes in men. Mine had led me into disaster.

“Next turn right?” His voice interrupted my train of thought, deep and calm, like he had to remind me we weren’t just two strangers stuck in silence.

“Uhm… yeah,” I answered quickly, pointing as if he hadn’t already seen the sign. I watched the way his hand moved effortlessly on the wheel, the car responding as smooth as his tone. Everything about him looked so freaking cool and natural at the same time, and that made me feel even more conscious of myself sitting there in Ava’s borrowed dress.

I hadn’t wanted this. If I had a choice, I would have come here alone, collected my box, and been gone before Christopher ever returned. But my so-called new family insisted Dominic drive me. I told myself it didn’t matter, Christopher was never home on weekends. He always spent Saturday nights God-knows-where and only came back on Mondays to grab a change of clothes. I had calculated it all before agreeing.

When we pulled into the compound, Dominic slowed the car and let his eyes scan the house. “You live here alone?” he asked casually, like it didn’t really matter, but it still felt like he was trying to piece things together.

“Yes,” I lied smoothly. It was easier than explaining the mess. “Just wait for me in the car. I won’t take long.”

He gave a small nod but didn’t argue. That was a relief. The last thing I needed was him following me in. I tugged down the short skinny gown Clarissa had lent me back at the hotel. It wasn’t my style at all, it hugged too much, revealed too much, clung in ways that made me constantly adjust it. I paired it with sneakers, which only made the outfit look stranger on me, but it was all I had. At least it was something different, a reminder that I was no longer Christopher’s wife walking back into this house.

The door creaked as I stepped inside. The air smelled faint, like stale smoke mixed with polish. My eyes went straight to the wedding picture of me and Christopher hanging on the wall of the living room. That cursed picture. Once I used to admire it, stopping to stare at how happy we looked, convincing myself we were still that couple. Now it was nothing but a lie framed in glass.

I dragged a chair closer, climbed slightly, pulled the picture down, and without hesitation, smashed it against the floor. The sound echoed sharp through the quiet house. Shards scattered everywhere. The perfect smiles in the frame broke into pieces, just like the years I had wasted on him. I stood there staring at the mess, breathing hard, before turning away. It was useless now.

I walked over to the mini bar, poured a quick drink, and gulped it down. The bitterness burned my throat but made me calm a bit. Then I headed straight for the master bedroom. My box was already packed there, I had made sure of it before Ava’s wedding. My plan had been simple: attend her wedding, then disappear out of town for good, leaving Christopher behind with nothing but his cheap excuses.

But the minute I opened the door, something hit me. The smell. Cigarette smoke, thick and fresh. My chest tightened. I flicked on the light. My heart dropped.

Christopher was sitting there.

He was sunk into the couch by my makeup dresser, a tray filled with stubs beside him like he had chain-smoked through his demons, a glass of whiskey dangling loosely in his hand. His eyes lifted slowly to me, red-rimmed but sharp, like he had been waiting.

I froze in place, stunned.

“Why are you just coming back?” His voice was low but filled with irritation. “And what the hell are you wearing? Why did a man drive you back home at this hour?” His eyes narrowed, sliding over me with the kind of ownership that used to make me shrink.

I snapped back into myself quickly. Without answering him, I walked straight to the corner where I had kept my box. I bent to pull it out, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. But before I could even turn with it, he was already in front of me, blocking my way.

“The last time I checked, you had no one except me to return to,” he sneered, whiskey on his breath. “So who do you think you’ll be going to after this divorce you carelessly threw around?”

I gave a short laugh, bitter and sharp, the sound surprising even me. “How about I give you the shocking surprise of your life, Chris? A plot twist.”

“Babe…” He growled the way he used to whenever he wanted me to bend. “That’s what you call me.” His jaw tightened, his eyes daring me to deny it.

“Oh, please. You lost the privilege to that already, Christopher Eastwood,” I shot back, my voice steady even though my hands were trembling inside.

His teeth ground together. “What the hell is wrong with you? That was a mistake, Madelyn. You know very well I love you.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Save that line for the sex worker you fucked every damn day. I’m allergic to it now.” I tried to move past him, but he grabbed me suddenly, rough hands digging into my arms. He crushed his mouth against mine in a hard, forceful kiss. I fought, twisting and shoving, but his strength had always outweighed mine. He pinned me down on the bed, his hand pushing up the hem of the red dress.

“Get off me!” I struggled, my voice rising. His mouth trailed lower, and my skin crawled with disgust. I kicked him, hard, right where it hurt. He groaned, clutching himself, but still glared at me.

“What makes you think you have the right to touch me?” My voice shook, but I pushed on, anger spilling out. “One whole year, Chris. I craved your touch. I wanted my husband. I begged you to fuck me, to just be present in this house, but not once did you. You told me you were busy, but the whole time you were wasting yourself on a whore and leaving me to starve. And now—now you dare?”

His face twisted. “The doctor said you needed to heal, Madelyn. I couldn’t hurt you more. It’s not like you’ll ever be pregnant again no matter how many times we fucked, so why are you—”

My hand moved on its own. The slap rang out across the room, cutting his words short. My palm stung, but the look on his face made it worth it.

How dare he? To remind me of that, of the wound that already lived inside me every day.

I shoved him back with everything in me, grabbed my box, and marched toward the door. My breath was uneven, my chest tight, but I didn’t stop.

I twisted the knob and turned back one last time. “I got married today, Christopher. Look at this ring. Look at it clearly—it’s new, it’s different. And the man you saw waiting outside? That’s my new husband.”

I didn’t give him another chance to speak. I pulled the door open, dragging my box behind me. Once the night air outside brushed the suffocation off my face, I shuddered at the sight of Dominic, standing right in front of the door.