Prologue (five years ago)

Prologue

Aurora’s POV

I can’t remember the last time Jace looked at me the way he looked at her smiling, unguarded, caught off guard by the camera flash as she clung to his arm beneath the ballroom’s glittering lights. The world seemed to revolve around them, and as I stared at my phone’s screen in the empty living room, my own world threatened to stop spinning altogether.

The comments beneath the photo gutted me.

‘@ire_goal_Childhood sweethearts. They look perfect together. He deserves someone who stands beside him. I guess that’s why he’s never seen with his wife.’

‘Pretty sure that was a lie. No one has ever seen him with the supposed wife @ire_goal_’

I could understand why they would say things like this because truthfully, I was never seen with him. Jace never even acknowledged me in public. I was as good as fake. Only a handful of people knew he was even married to me and I was very much real.

I scroll back up to the freeze-frame of her laughter, her arm slipped through his like a secret that belonged only to them. His hand rests on her back with the tenderness I've craved for years. Everything she was receiving right now was something I've craved for years to belong to me.

My hands shake from anger, fear? I don't even know. Maybe disappointment but my resolve doesn’t falter as I find the number in my contacts.

“Mr. Lewis? I need you to draw up divorce papers. Tonight.”

There’s a dull ache in my chest, not just anger but something far more tired. Even as I take my decision, I know I’m still hopelessly in love with the man sleeping on magazine covers. The one who is always kind to every other woman but never me.

I moved my feet to the kitchen, pulling myself together as best I can before he comes home. At least what used to be my home. He comes home late, the scent of expensive cologne and champagne trailing after him. I do what I always do, make dinner, ask how his day went, and pretend my world hasn’t shattered.

He barely looks at me, worn down by some unseen battle. His tie half-undone and shirt unbuttoned at the throat, he’s every inch the man they see in the magazines: cold, self-assured, untouchable. I search his face for warmth, for anything that says I matter. He gives me silence instead; the only thing he gives is what happens when the lights are off and we’re alone in bed.

When he finally speaks, it’s not to ask about my day, but to ask for me. His hand finds mine as we pass in the hallway, pulling me gently but firmly toward the bedroom. I don’t protest, I never have. I let him take, because this is the only part of him he’ll give.

We move to the bedroom in silence, shed our clothes in ritual, not in passion. My skin burns beneath his touch. His lips find the curve of my neck, his hands urgent and practiced. I arch into him, desperate for a tenderness that never comes. Beneath his weight, I feel both lost and found. The only thing holding me to him is need and hope, adrift in the sea of my own longing.

He kisses me with want and I open up clinging to the last piece of him I'll forever keep in my memory. I know he has kissed other girls like this, especially his childhood friend Felicity but I want him right now. We move together, my moves matching his with a loud moan.

His hands grip me tighter, his pace quickens, and for a moment I let myself believe that the desperation in his touch might be longing, not just need. His breath is warm against my ear, and I press my lips to his jaw in silent a plea.

"Please see me," I whisper, so soft I barely hear it myself.

He finishes with a shudder, his body relaxing as he collapses beside me. He drapes an arm over me, not with affection but with ownership. Minutes pass, his breathing slows, and I realize he’s already drifting into sleep.

I lie awake, watching the city lights filter through the curtain above our bed. I trace circles on the cool sheets. I memorize the man beside me one last time, the sharp line of his jaw softened by dreams, the hand that held me now slack and open.

I quickly dress in jeans and a comfortable top. My bags were already packed. Down the hallway, the suitcase waits, silent and patient. I get up, careful not to wake him. I pause at the doorway, looking back. The life I’d built, the love I spent myself on, all behind me. I press a kiss to his bare shoulder, whisper goodbye, and slip from the room.

Immediately I made my way outside, the city welcomed me with the same buzz I had always thought I loved but now just makes me fed up. I don't waste any time as I move swiftly and get into a cab.

As the car moves, I look back to where I left Jace, the building still high and beautiful beneath the sky.

“Goodbye, Jace.”

Tomorrow he'll get the divorce papers but I'll be long gone by then.