Chapter 4

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Chapter 4:Hidden truth

Possibly,” he murmured. “But there's something else in you too.” 

  

  His hand slid to the side of my neck, following the rim of my collarbone. My breath faltered. 

  

  "You shouldn't be doing this," I said. 

  

  "Probably not." His finger swept my cheek. "But I cannot help but think of you." Your movement style. The way you look at me as if you want to get caught." 

  

  I ought to have withdrawn. 

  

  I should have hit him, yelled at him, then raced back to my spotless, ideal husband. 

  

  Still I didn't. 

  

  I was drowning, and this man—this broken, deadly man—was the only thing that made me feel alive. 

  

  "I married your son," I quietly murmured. 

  

  He gave a faint smile. "You married a guy who left you here like an unloved heirloom." 

  

  I peered at him. "What from me do you want?" 

  

  His lips hovered just above mine. "Everything you fear to admit." 

  

  The moment dangled—on the precipice of desire, madness, and results. 

  

  And then he backed off. 

  

  Just enough to make me mad. 

  

  He said, "I won't stop if I kiss you." 

  

  My breath came in ragged waves. “Then don’t start.” 

  

  He was standing. 

  

  Ivana, go back inside. 

  

  I saw him march away, back stiff, jaw tight, as though giving me everything he had. 

  

  I fell onto the bench, skin burning with what nearly happened and breath heaving, as he vanished behind the ivy. 

  

  Falling I was. 

  

  And I hadn't even dipped bottom yet.

--

Ethan returned late. Not unusually late—just enough that I knew he took his time. His coat was damp at the shoulders, his eyes dull with fatigue. No perfume lingered on him, no trace of someone else. Just the sterile scent of airports and stale coffee.

"Hey," he said softly, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

His lips were cold.

"Hey," I replied, stepping back before I could think better of it.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose to pretend.

We walked up the stairs together, not quite in step. His hand brushed the banister. Mine stayed at my side. We passed the hallway leading to Christopher’s study—the light under the door barely visible. But I felt it. Him.

Ethan didn’t glance that way. Didn’t glance at me either.

"I’ll take the guest room tonight," he said as we reached our bedroom door.

I blinked. "Why?"

"Jet lag. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow."

Right. Of course.

The door clicked shut behind him before I could ask if we were going to keep pretending this was normal.

---

Sleep didn’t come. I lay in bed with the covers pulled up to my chin, staring at the ceiling fan slicing the air in slow, steady rotations. Every tick of the clock sounded like a breath being held too long.

Around 3 a.m., I gave up. Slid out of bed, feet cold on the marble floor, and walked the hallway barefoot. I didn’t even know where I was going—maybe the greenhouse, maybe nowhere. But the library door was cracked open, and that stopped me.

A faint amber light flickered inside.

He was there.

Christopher.

Leaning back in an armchair, glass in hand, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He didn’t look surprised to see me. If anything, he looked like he’d been expecting it.

"You always wander at night?" he asked, voice low.

"Only when sleep feels like a punishment."

He gave a short nod and looked back at the fire.

I stepped inside without being asked. The rug muffled my steps. He didn’t move as I sat across from him, though I felt his attention shift toward me.

"Ethan’s in the guest room again," I said, surprising myself.

"I know."

"Of course you do."

Silence stretched, soft and uneasy. The fire crackled, filling the space between words.

"I thought love would feel warmer than this," I said, mostly to the flames.

Christopher turned his glass slowly in his hands. “It should.”

I glanced at him. His eyes were on the fire, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

"I’m not looking for sympathy."

"Good. I don’t give it freely."

I almost smiled. "You give honesty instead?"

"When it matters."

"And does this matter?"

He finally looked at me. "You matter."

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

He stood, walked to the window, and looked out into the night. I followed him without rising—just my eyes.

"I’m not trying to make things worse," he said after a long pause.

"But you’re not staying away either."

He turned then. Slowly. His eyes didn’t soften. But something in them flickered.

"No. I’m not."

He crossed the room—deliberate, calm. Stopped just in front of me. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t even reach out.

But God, he didn’t need to.

"I don’t sleep either," I whispered.

"I know."

"I wish I hated you."

He exhaled, low and sharp. "Don’t wish that. Hate burns out too fast."

I looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close we stood.

"I feel invisible," I said. "Every day. Every night. And then you look at me like I’m the only thing in the room."

"You are."

My breath stilled.

His hand lifted—not to touch, just to hover. Like he was asking. Like he was warning.

"Say the word, and I’ll step back," he said.

I didn’t.

And he didn’t kiss me. But the silence between us kissed every part of me that had gone cold.

---

Back in bed, I lay awake for hours. Ethan hadn’t returned.

The other side of the bed was still empty. Still untouched.

But I wasn’t alone in the dark anymore.

Not really.

Someone else had left their mark.

And he didn’t need to cross the line to make me ache for it.

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