Chapter 7

Salome’s POV

“Are you really just going to let that thing ring all night?”

I didn't move. I kept my back turned to Barnabas, my eyes pressed shut so tight they ached. On the nightstand, his phone was a frantic, glowing insect. It buzzed against the wood, the vibration rattling through the mattress and into my bones. The dark room flashed white with every new notification.

Then came the chime of a video call. The digital trill was loud, demanding an answer that Barnabas wasn’t giving. I felt the bed shift. He was awake. He was staring at it, just like I was, even if I was pretending to be dead to the world.

The texts started next. They arrived in a rapid-fire sequence, a stuttering rhythm of pings that sliced through the silence of the bedroom.

Barnabas finally moved. He lunged for the device, his hand silhouetted against the bright screen for a second before he jammed the power button. The light died. The room plummeted back into shadows.

“It’s just work,” he said. His voice was thick, a low mutter that didn’t sound like the truth. “Go back to sleep, Salome.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy to peel back his lies yet. I simply rolled over, facing the cold expanse of the wall, and listened to the sound of my own heart thudding against the pillow.

An hour crawled by. I stayed perfectly still, regulating my breath until it was slow and shallow. Beside me, the sheets rustled. Barnabas sat up with agonizing slowness. He was trying to be a ghost, creeping toward the edge of the bed. I heard the faint click of the phone powering back on, the tiny sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.

He stood up and padded toward the door. He moved like a man who thought he was alone, but he forgot what I am. He forgot that my wolf’s hearing can pick up the heartbeat of a bird in the trees outside.

The door creaked as he stepped into the hallway. He whispered, his voice a ghost of a sound, but to me, it was perfectly clear.

“Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay? Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

I stared into the blackness of the room. I felt a cold, hollow sensation open up in my chest. I had expected better, which was my first mistake. Expecting anything from Barnabas was like trying to catch water in a sieve.

The sun hadn’t even thought about rising when the door creaked again at five in the morning. He was back from playing hero to his mistress. I kept my limbs heavy, my breathing rhythmic. I felt his presence at the door, a lingering pause of hesitation, before he retreated into the bathroom.

When he finally returned to the bed, he didn't keep his distance. He slid under the covers and pulled me against him. His arm draped over my waist, heavy and possessive. I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck. He smelled like the cold morning air and a faint, sweet perfume that wasn't mine. He fell asleep almost instantly, his body relaxing into the heavy, honest rhythm of exhaustion.

I opened my eyes.

I reached down and carefully lifted his arm, sliding out from under his weight like a shadow. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked back at him. The first grey light of dawn was filtering through the curtains, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the hollow of his throat.

And there it was.

A fresh, purple bruise sat right near his collarbone. A hickey. My fingers curled into the fabric of the duvet, my nails digging into the silk. For one wild, pulsing second, I imagined picking up the extra pillow and holding it over his face until the lies stopped breathing. Inside my head, Vesper was a storm of fur and teeth, snarling at the disrespect. I pushed her back down. I forced myself to take a long, shaking breath.

I left the room before the heat in my chest turned into a scream.

Downstairs, the kitchen was cool and quiet. I tied an apron over my silk nightgown and started the stove. I needed a distraction. I cracked eggs into a pan, the sizzle masking the ringing in my ears. I dropped bread into the toaster. The smell of breakfast filled the house, a mask of domestic normalcy draped over a rotting foundation.

I heard his footsteps on the stairs. Barnabas walked into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked refreshed, a stark contrast to the wreck I felt like inside.

“Morning,” I said. I kept my tone airy, like a melody. “Sit down. It’s almost ready.”

He paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He probably expected a fight or a cold shoulder. Instead, he sat. I placed a plate in front of him and poured two glasses of juice. I took the seat opposite him, watching him over the rim of my glass.

“There is something I need to tell you,” I said.

He stopped with a fork halfway to his mouth. “What is it?”

“I am resigning from the company.”

The fork hit the plate with a clatter. He blinked, his brow furrowing. “What? Why would you do that?”

I leaned back, trying to look like a woman who had simply run out of ambition. “I am tired, Barnabas. I want to see what it’s like to live the easy life of a Luna. Maybe I’ll find a hobby. Maybe I’ll just shop. I’m done with the office.”

He watched me closely, his eyes searching for a trap. When he didn't find one, his shoulders dropped. He actually looked relieved.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice turning soft, almost condescending. “You should rest. Stay home. Maybe this is the right time for us to finally try for a child.”

I kept the smile pinned to my face even as my stomach curdled. A child? He wanted a legacy with me while he spent his nights in another woman's bed? Not in this lifetime.

I took another sip of juice to wash away the bitter taste of his words. I didn't look at him. I couldn't.

“I’ll start the paperwork this week,” I said. “And I’m planning a trip. Clementine is going to go to the Maldives with me.”

He frowned again. “Clementine? Doesn't she have cases to handle at the firm?”

“She is making the time for me. I’m lucky to have a friend who stays loyal.”

He hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Callume. I’ll have my assistant handle the bookings. Just go and enjoy yourself.”

I smiled, but my mind was already scanning the floor plan of my new apartment.

I spent the next few days moving. It was easy to sneak things out while he was at work or busy with her. A box of clothes here, a folder of documents there. He never noticed the thinning of my closet. He never noticed the way I was disappearing piece by piece.

On Tuesday evening, Barnabas was sitting on the porch, his face illuminated by the blue light of his phone. He was laughing at something on the screen. I stood out in the yard, several yards away, standing over a rusted metal barrel.

I struck a match. The flame was tiny and fragile against the evening wind, but it caught. I dropped it into the barrel.

The pile of wedding photos inside didn't just burn; they roared. I watched the edges of our wedding day curl and blacken. I watched my own smiling face turn to ash. I watched the version of him that I used to love vanish into grey flakes.

The smoke rose in a thick, dark column. Barnabas finally looked up, squinting through the glass door at the fire.

“Hey,” he shouted, sliding the door open. “What are you doing out there? What is that smell?”

I looked at him over the dancing flames. I let a small, jagged smile touch my lips.

“Nothing important,” I said, turning my gaze back to the fire. “Just some useless trash I didn't want in the house anymore.”

Barnabas walked over to the edge of the grass, staring at the charred remains of our memories. He looked at me like I had lost my mind.

“You could have just put it in the bin,” he grumbled.

I didn't look at him. I watched the last photo of our first kiss turn into a glowing ember.

“I wanted it gone completely.”