7

So, I moved on to the other messages and went about my day.

I was at work when he walked inside.

Not he, as in Bastien, but he, as in my soon-to-be ex-husband, Adrien.

He took a seat at the bar and looked at me with his classic pissed-off expression.

I stared him down with the most irritation I could muster. “Why are you here?”

He continued to stare at me, a tint to his face.

“Are you going to order something or…?” I didn’t have time for this immature bullshit. There were other people sitting at the bar. Even though it was a weeknight, it was a packed house.

“You had someone at your apartment last night.”

I stilled at the statement and felt the anger seep in. “You’re watching me?”

“Making sure you’re safe⁠—”

“I’m not doing this here.” I wanted to raise my voice but couldn’t. “You’re a fucking prick, you know that?” I walked away and moved on to somebody else in the hope he would leave. I served drinks and kept my eyes on my customers and my hands, and after thirty minutes of ignoring him, he finally left.

But I knew he would be waiting in my apartment when I walked inside.

When I entered the apartment, the lights were already on. I walked into the main room with the dining table and tossed my purse on it, not looking at Adrien even though I spotted his frame in the corner of my eye. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I turned to look at him head on.

His eyes held unspent rage. “Your husband.”

“Not by choice,” I snapped. “What part of ‘give me space’ do you not understand?”

“Space to fuck around?” He raised his voice, like this truly burned holes through his skin.

“I’m not obligated to tell you a damn thing because I’m not your wife anymore. But unlike you, I’m a decent and honest person who’s as transparent as glass, so I was going to tell you. Paying your men to watch me twenty-four seven is completely unnecessary.”

His face started to blotch red, his anger having no escape except through his skin.

“I met someone I liked—and I fucked him.” If Adrien hadn’t bombarded me at work or admitted he was having his men tail me, I would have been a lot more delicate about it, but I was too pissed off to cushion his feelings. “And it was gooooood.”

He started to tremble, like his head was about to explode from the audacity of my words. He dragged his hand down his face like he needed to move in some way so he wouldn’t pick up a chair and throw it at me. He turned around and started to pace, too much rage coursing through his body to tolerate.

“So good, I’m glad you cheated on me—let me put it that way.”

He pivoted back in my direction, his eyes so vicious it seemed like he might hurt me. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

“What am I doing?”

“An eye for an eye. I get it.”

I released a weak laugh because it was ridiculous. “No, Adrien. I don’t keep receipts or settle scores like you do. I fucked him because I don’t want to be in this marriage anymore, and I’m ready to move on with my life. So let’s file those divorce papers and go our separate ways.”

“Last time we spoke, you said you would think about it.”

“And then I met this sexy-as-fuck man and realized I don’t need to settle for your bullshit. All I asked was for you not to stick your dick in other people, something you promised when we married, but apparently that was too fucking hard.”

He rubbed his hand over his jawline again, knowing this marriage was exploding in his face right now. “It was a mistake.”

“And this guy wasn’t a mistake. I knew exactly what I was doing when I did it. And you can’t fool me, Adrien. You knew exactly what you were doing, too. Just fucking own up to it. Maybe then I would have been willing to work it out with you, but the fact that I had to hear about it from her, of all people…”

“I said I was sorry⁠—”

“Sorry that you got caught. Big fucking difference.”

“If it was a one-time thing that I regretted and would never repeat, why would I hurt you by telling you that?”

“It’s called honor. It’s called honesty. It’s called integrity. And more importantly, it’s called respect. You did not respect me when you fucked her. You did not respect me when you chose to hide it from me. You spared me the pain of the truth by lying about it, but you hurt me in far more ways by keeping it a secret. I’m done with this marriage, Adrien. Grant me the divorce so we can move on with our lives.”

He stared at me as he breathed hard, watching his world come apart in ash and fire.

“Adrien, you’re handsome and rich as fuck. You can be single and fuck all of Paris if you want. You don’t need a wife.”

“As hard as this is for you to believe, I married you because I loved you.” He said it with complete seriousness, suppressing his anger so it wouldn’t escape in his tone. “I still love you. I can replace you with beautiful women that I’ll forget, but I genuinely, truly want to be married to you.”

It was the first time I felt my anger pause. I crossed my arms over my chest and let out a quiet sigh.

“But once you found out, you took off. We haven’t had an opportunity to really talk because all you’ve done is run. I won’t pretend that this…fling…doesn’t bother me. Doesn’t rip me apart on the inside. But I suppose it is fair…so I can let it go.” With every word, I sensed his massive restraint, like it made him sick just to say these things. “I still want to work this out. I still want you to come home.”

My chin drifted down, my arms still tight across my chest, my eyes on the floor.

“Fleur.”

My eyes stayed down. “You say there was no one else, but I’m not sure I can believe you. That’s the problem.” I lifted my eyes and looked at him again.

“There was no one else.”

“Is there actually no one else, or is there just no way for me to find out?”

He released a quiet sigh in frustration.

“If there’s no trust, I don’t see how this is going to work. There’s shattered glass everywhere, and I’m going to keep stepping on it.”

His eyebrows furrowed like he didn’t understand what that meant.

“The answer is no, Adrien.”

“You won’t even try⁠—”

“Because I don’t trust you. And no amount of marriage counseling is going to fix that. I’m always going to wonder if there were others. I’m always going to wonder if I’ve become that dumbass woman who actually believes her husband is a good man when he’s lying to her face. I don’t want to be a fool, Adrien.”

“I think you’re a bigger fool for throwing this away⁠—”

“You’re the one who threw this away. I won’t let you turn this on me.”

He stared at me for a long time, anger and frustration burning in his gaze. “What I said still stands. Try with me—or there will be no divorce.”

“Whoa…” I shook my head. “If you wanted me this bad, then why did you fuck someone else? Where was this fight then? Where was this obsession? Is this actually about love or propriety? Or is it about wanting what you can’t have? Is it because you’re a child who can’t stand it when you don’t get your way?”

The defeat was in his gaze, the frustration that had nowhere to go but deeper inside. “I love you, Fleur. From the first moment I saw you. I refuse to let you go, not just because I don’t believe in divorce, but because you’re the love of my life. I’m willing to do anything and everything to make this relationship work. It’s that simple. So, there will be no divorce, not until I see you try, not until I see some real effort to make this work. If we try and give it our all and you still can’t trust me, then so be it.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t want to try.”

His defeated look morphed into something else, an expression that was subtly deranged. “Don’t fight me on this.”

“You know fight is my middle name.”

His eyes contained the same razor’s edge. “You can continue to submit the paperwork to the courts, but it’ll be rejected every time. And if you try to have a relationship with someone else, I’ll make sure they know you’re married—to me.” The threat was never stated, but it was unmistakable. He was connected to a lot of people in his line of work, because whoever could afford such invaluable pieces of art and had no objection to owning a piece of history that belonged to the people clearly didn’t have a conscience. And they were capable of far worse than purchasing stolen artwork.

“Then I guess I’ll pick my next man wisely.”