Chapter Five

"Where were you last night, Elodie? And why are you walking out of a commercial building at nine in the morning?"

Kevin stood in front of me on the concrete pavement, blocking the path to my car. His suit was immaculately tailored, his dark hair styled to perfection, but his dark hazel eyes were sharp with an underlying edge of irritation.

"I was just passing by," I said, my voice remarkably even as I met his gaze. "I saw the architecture and wanted to take a look inside. Is that a crime now?"

He stared at me for a long beat, his hazel eyes searching my face. When I didn't back down, he let out a low sigh, refusing to press the matter further. Instead, he reached out with lightning speed and snatched my smartphone right out of my hand.

"Hey!"

Before I could grab it back, he swiped open the screen, his thumb scrolling aggressively through the endless log of missed calls and unread texts he had sent since last night.

"You turned off your ringtone," he said, looking up from the screen, his tone heavy with a mixture of disbelief and sharp reprimand. "Do you have any idea how many times I called you? You’ve always been so understanding, Elodie. You’ve never acted like this before. Why are you being so difficult over nothing?"

His words hit like a physical slap, the sheer audacity of it burning through my chest.

"Difficult?" I shot back, taking a deliberate step toward him, my voice rising with a fiery edge he had never heard in six years. "You think I’m being difficult because I walked out on a room full of your wealthy elite friends laughing at my ruined face? Was I supposed to sit there quietly, smile, and let them humiliate me to keep your dinner party pleasant?"

Kevin’s expression didn't crumble. He merely slipped my phone into his jacket pocket and adjusted his cuffs with maddening, suave composure.

"You can't control what other people say in a private setting, Elodie," he said smoothly. "People talk. You know how my circle is."

"I can't control them, no," I countered, letting out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "But you could have stopped them. They're your friends. They listen to you. But instead of defending your wife, you sat there sipping whiskey while Iris leaned against your chest, laughing right along with them."

Kevin’s face instantly darkened.

"Don't talk about Iris that way," he snapped, his voice dropping into a stern, protective growl. "She has a delicate reputation to uphold, Elodie. Don't go throwing dirt on her name just because you're upset."

I froze, the noise of the morning traffic fading into a dull hum.

A cold, dead sensation settled over my heart. In all six years of our marriage, no matter how much effort I put into pleasing him, he had never once raised his voice to defend my dignity or my reputation. But the second I uttered Iris’s name, he bristled like a protective shield.

The only person he truly cared about in that room, in this entire world, was her.

Seeing the frozen look on my face, Kevin’s stern posture relaxed. His hazel eyes softened back into that warm, practiced gentleness he used whenever he wanted to manage me.

"Look," he said softly, reaching out to take my hand in his. "I'll let it slide this time. I won't hold you running away to a hotel against you. You haven't eaten breakfast, have you? You must be starving. Come on, I'll take you to get your favorite food."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you, Kevin," I said, trying to pull my hand back.

"Don't be stubborn," he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to guide me firmly toward the passenger door of his Maybach. "We're going to sit down and talk like adults."

I stopped fighting him and let him pull me into the leather interior.

It was fine. If he wanted to sit down and talk, then today was the day we would end it. I had something to say to him anyway.

Ten minutes later, he ushered me into a private booth at an upscale, sunlit fusion restaurant downtown.

Looking around the polished marble interior, a bitter, hollow ache expanded in my chest. I couldn't even remember the last time Kevin and I had eaten out together at a restaurant. In six years, he had almost never taken me out in public, always making excuses about his busy schedule, when in reality, he was simply terrified of running into someone he knew while accompanied by his scarred wife.

"I ordered for us," Kevin said smoothly as the waiter walked away.

When the dishes arrived five minutes later, my breath caught in my throat. Placed right in the center of the table was a massive plate of steamed garlic butter prawns, spicy braised beef, and seared scallops.

I stared at the spread in absolute disbelief.

"What is this, Kevin?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Your favorites," he replied with a handsome, satisfied smile, completely oblivious. "Eat up. You look pale."

"I am severely allergic to shellfish, Kevin," I said, my voice trembling as hot, humiliated tears prickled behind my eyes. "And I haven't eaten beef in four years. These are your favorite dishes. Not mine."

Kevin blinked, a brief flicker of awkwardness crossing his dark hazel eyes before he smoothly brushed it off. He reached for a fresh plate, picked up a large prawn, and began peeling the shell with practiced, elegant ease.

"Well, you can eat around it," he said casually, placing the freshly peeled shrimp onto my side plate. "Stop talking nonsense and eat, Elodie. How are you going to survive if you keep skipping meals over a little moodiness?"

I stared at the peeled shrimp sitting on my plate like an insult.

I looked up at the man sitting across from me, suave, perfect, and utterly ignorant of who I actually was.

"Let's get a divorce, Kevin."

The words fell between us, clear, sharp, and absolute.

Kevin’s hands paused over the serving dish. He didn't panic. He simply picked up a cloth napkin, wiped his fingers, and leaned back against the leather booth, looking at me with an arrogant, amused condescension.

"Divorce?" he chuckled softly, as if I had just told a bad joke. "Elodie, stop making a scene. You're still angry about last night, I get it. But don't throw around words you don't mean. Let me remind you, I canceled three executive board meetings this morning just to come find you and buy you breakfast."

"I didn't ask you to cancel my meetings," I said, holding his gaze firmly. "I'm not making a scene. I am telling you that I want out of this marriage."

"Out?" Kevin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone hardening. "And go where? Do what? You haven't worked in six years, Elodie. Your face..." He caught himself, quickly softening his voice, though the edge remained. "You have no income, no career, and no network. How would you survive without me? Stop acting out. Iris is our friend, and she even told me she wants to get closer to you and be your sister. You should be trying to make peace, not throwing fits."

A bitter, incredulous sneer broke across my face. "She wants to be my sister? Are you listening to yourself, Kevin?"

"Elodie, don't test my patience!" he snapped sharply, his voice commanding. Then, seeing a waiter glance over, he instantly dialed it back, offering a warm, placating smile. "Eat your food. We are not discussing this ridiculous divorce idea again."

Before I could reply, the bright sound of heels clicking against the marble floor approached our table.

"Oh! Kevin! Elodie!"

Iris materialized right beside our booth, beaming radiantly, her striking amber eyes wide and bright. She was dressed in a pale, sleeveless chiffon dress from a luxury French boutique, elegant and delicate, entirely open at the shoulders and neck.

"I thought I saw your car outside, Kevin!" Iris gushed, her voice sweet and chirpy as she slid right into the booth, sitting intimately close to Kevin's side. She glanced over the spread of food and clasped her hands together. "Oh, wow! These are all my absolute favorites! You don't mind if I join you two, do you? I'm absolutely starving."

"Of course not," Kevin said immediately, his entire demeanor shifting into effortless warmth as he signaled the waiter for an extra place setting. "Sit down. We were just ordering."

Iris leaned closer to Kevin, turning around to show off the delicate, sleeveless cut of her gown.

"Kevin, look! Does my dress look nice? I bought it as soon as I landed."

Kevin smiled, his dark hazel eyes lingering on her with an unreserved admiration he had never shown me. "It suits you perfectly. Beautiful."

"Right?" Iris giggled softly, her amber eyes flashing with a subtle, triumphant glance across the table directly at me. "It's my absolute favorite French boutique brand. You always have great taste, Kevin."

I sat frozen, my blood running ice-cold.

I looked at the dress Iris was wearing: the pale, sleeveless chiffon, the delicate French boutique cut, completely open at the shoulders and neck.

It was the exact same brand, the exact same style, and the exact same design as the dress sitting in the pastel box Kevin had handed me last night for our sixth anniversary. The exact same sleeveless dresses filling an entire wardrobe in my bedroom that I could never wear without exposing my ruined skin.

A sharp, violent pain stabbed straight through my lungs, suffocating me.

All those years... all those holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries... every single gift he had ever brought home for me was never bought with me in mind.

He wasn't buying clothes for his wife.

He was buying Iris's wardrobe, using me as a ghost stand-in to collect the things he wished he could give to her.

Watching the two of them sit side-by-side, chatting and flirting openly over a table full of food I couldn't eat, a wave of intense physical nausea surged up my throat.

"Excuse me," I forced out, my voice thick.

Without waiting for Kevin to answer, I slid out of the booth and walked quickly toward the restroom hallway, my knees trembling with every step.

Inside the sleek marble restroom, I gripped the porcelain sink, turning on the tap and splashing cold water onto my face, trying to stop the violent shaking of my hands. I stared at my reflection, watching the water droplets trail down my scarred skin, drowning in the absolute humiliation of the past six years.

Suddenly, the heavy restroom door creaked open behind me.

"Elodie?" a smooth, delicate voice called out from the doorway.