You'll Regret This

~SEREN~

I blink once, then twice.

Did he just say…

“An open marriage?” The words scrape against my throat like sand as they leave my mouth.

Julian nods before pausing to stare at me like I’m a child struggling to understand something simple.

“Ah, figures,” he mutters before continuing. “An open marriage is when—”

“I know what a fucking open marriage is, Julian,” I snap. “My question is why?”

“Well…” Julian starts toward me. His fingers reach for my hair, and I nearly recoil when a faint whiff of what I’m sure is Lila’s juice reaches me from his skin.

“Even if you can’t fulfill your role as a wife,” he continues, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger while holding my gaze like we’re discussing something perfectly normal, “you’re still very useful when it comes to running Imperium.”

A glare flashes across my face before I can stop it, and I slap his hand away.

“So what? I’m not entertaining or good enough to be your wife, but I’m educated enough to be your cash cow?” I spit out.

Julian actually has the audacity to look offended.

“I’m not forcing you, Seren,” he says calmly. “You’re free to divorce me if you want, but…” The rest of his words trail off as a knowing smile crosses his lips, his shrug practically screaming that we both know exactly how that would end.

I swallow the urge to scream in his face.

“I gave you everything…”

“Everything except good sex and children,” he cuts in, his words landing like repeated stab wounds to my chest. “Things I’ll finally get to experience during this open marriage.”

From the bed, Lila speaks hesitantly, though the look in her eyes and how comfortably she’s sprawled across my matrimonial bed says otherwise.

“Don’t worry, Seren. Julian is in safe hands. I’ll take good care of him, and I promise,” she raises a hand, making a zipping motion across her lips that twitch with an obvious smile, “this will be our little secret.”

At this point, I’m seriously contemplating the charges for manslaughter.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if, by the time the police arrived, Julian’s dick was missing and Lila was left permanently smiling with that pretty—yet utterly disgusting—face of hers.

I glare in her direction before turning back to Julian. The complete lack of remorse on his face still hurts just as much.

He really did this to me after everything we’ve been through together.

“You’re going to regret this, Julian—”

The words barely leave my lips before Julian’s laughter fills the room. He throws his head back, laughing openly, the once-beloved sound now piercing straight through my chest.

“Regret?” he echoes. “Seren, you only regret losing something that’s actually worth keeping.”

His gaze drags slowly over my body.

Shamefully, I become painfully aware of the plain black, thin-strapped bodycon dress I threw on in a hurry before heading to the hospital earlier today. I’m not even wearing a bra.

“As you are now, you have little to no worth, Seren Caldwell.” His lips curl faintly. “You can’t even give me a child. So tell me… can you really blame me for getting tired of the failure you’ve become?”

Those words hurt deeper than anything else that had been said today, and something inside me finally snapped.

My hand moved before I could think and—

Thwack!

The sharp sound of my palm connecting with his cheek, followed by Lila’s startled gasp, echoed through the room.

Julian’s head jerks slightly to the side, and for a brief second, genuine shock flashes across his face before hardening into anger.

“Seren Caldwell,” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes turning vicious. “Don’t push my buttons.”

“Fuck you and your buttons, Julian,” I spit back, my voice shaking as tears burn behind my eyes. “You want an open marriage? Fine. Have it. But mark my words—you’re going to regret this.”

The silence that follows is quickly broken by the sound of Julian scoffing.

“You done?” he asks nonchalantly. “If you are, excuse me. I’d like to get back to the woman who actually knows how to… treat a man right.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, he turns and climbs back onto the bed.

“You’re welcome to join us, Seren,” Lila calls out just as Julian buries his face into her neck, pulling another giggle from her lips.

Swallowing back the bile tightening in my throat, I turn and head for the door.

Another second in that room and I’m certain I’ll either end up with two bodies at my feet… or break down sobbing in front of two people who don’t deserve to see me fall apart.

Their moans and laughter seem to follow me all the way out of the house as I stalk toward my car and climb inside.

I had no destination in mind, but I knew anywhere was better than staying in that house.

With that thought, I pulled out of the driveway, pressing my foot harder against the gas even though I had nowhere specific to go.

The scenery around me blurred as I drove, and it wasn’t until a tear finally slipped free and landed on my lap that I realized it wasn’t because of my speed, but because my vision had become clouded with tears.

This time, I didn’t stop them.

Within the confines of my car, I let the choked sobs tear through my throat freely.

Eight whole years.

Eight years spent building a life with him, only for him to betray me like this.

My heart feels like it’s been stabbed so many times that the tears spilling down my face now feel less like pain and more like pure anger.

I don’t know how long I drive before the tears finally stop, leaving me sitting numbly behind the wheel, staring blankly at it until the flickering lights and distant commotion ahead pull me out of my thoughts.

I look up, my eyes settling on the neon-bright sign overhead.

The Seven.

The S is replaced with a curved number 7, twisted cleverly to mimic the shape of the letter.

It’s one of the most elite bars in the city, a place where the wealthy and influential frequently gather because, apparently, they serve the best alcohol money can buy.

I’d heard of the place once after Julian came home drunk following one of our arguments. When I demanded to know where he’d been, he told me he came here to drink.

“Drowning myself in alcohol is better than listening to you nag,” he’d said.

I remember frowning at the idea of turning to alcohol instead of handling problems with a clear head.

But now, with the numbness in my chest threatening to swallow me whole and the events of today weighing heavily on my mind, my body is already moving before I can stop to think about it.

Right now, I don’t need to think.

I need to drown that ability in alcohol.

I need to feel something other than the pain Julian left behind in my chest.

Just for tonight, I want to forget.

As expected, the scent of alcohol, expensive perfume, and something thickly laced with sex hits me the moment I step inside the club.

Ignoring the looks thrown my way and how suddenly exposed I feel in my black dress, I make my way toward the bar and slide onto one of the stools.

“Your strongest whiskey,” I order.

The bartender, a woman with sharp eyes and red lips, gives me a once-over before pressing her lips into an apologetic smile as she pours me a glass.

I grab it and toss the entire thing back without hesitation.

“Another,” I demand.

She shoots me a look but says nothing as she refills the glass.

I throw that one back just as quickly.

Then another. And another. And another.

Before I know it, I’m on my ninth shot, and just as I place the empty glass down for more—a temporary escape from the bitter reality clawing its way back to the surface—the bartender shakes her head, arms folded across her plump chest, a wipe rag hanging loosely from one hand.

“No more, miss,” she says, her accent thick with Australian. “You’re at your limit.”

I frown—or at least, I think I do—as I lift the glass and place it back onto the counter with more force than necessary.

“You don’t… you don’t get to decide when I’m at my limit.” My words slur slightly before the rest dies in my throat.

She doesn’t know what I’ve been through today.

I just… want to forget.

“Another,” I demand again.

The bartender narrows her eyes before her gaze flickers over my shoulder. Leaning forward with her elbows resting against the counter, she lowers her voice.

“I can’t do that, miss. If I give you any more, I’m gonna end up in real trouble.”

“What are you—” I start, but that’s when I notice whispering around me.

Two tables away, a pair of women keep sneaking glances in my direction, their expressions almost hungry.

It takes me a few seconds to realize they aren’t staring at me but past me. 

Following the bartender’s line of sight, I slowly turn around, and my breath quite literally catches in my throat.

In the far corner of the bar, seated in a booth that practically screams VIP, are two men.

But it isn’t just the fact that they’re devastatingly handsome, or even the way power seems to radiate effortlessly from them, that leaves me frozen.

It’s the way those intense honey-amber eyes are fixed on me like they’ve just found something worth hunting.