Chapter 2: The Final Straw

Alessia

I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there.

The tabloid lay open on the coffee table like it was mocking me. Her red dress, his rare smile, the way he stood so comfortably beside her. I had stared at that photo until the colors blurred and my stomach twisted with something sharp and familiar—humiliation.

The house stayed quiet. My untouched anniversary dinner had already been packed away by one of the maids. The candles I lit were nothing but puddles of wax.

He still hadn’t come home.

A part of me had hoped—stupidly, pathetically—that maybe he’d walk through that door with an apology. A reason. Even a lie would’ve been easier than this silence. But hours passed. The sky turned to dusk. Then to night.

And still, nothing.

It was after midnight when I finally heard the front door open. The unmistakable sound of his keys jingling lazily as he let himself in.

I didn’t move right away. I just stood in the hallway, staring at him through the sliver of light that crept in from the living room. His tall frame leaned slightly to one side. His suit jacket was draped over one arm, shirt unbuttoned at the top, and the faint scent of liquor wrapped around him like smoke.

He was drunk. Not enough to stumble. Just enough to let the mask slip.

When he finally noticed me, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause. He just sighed and ran a hand through his hair, like my presence was an inconvenience.

“I waited,” I said softly, my voice catching against my throat. “All night.”

He dropped his jacket on the chair by the door and loosened his tie, walking past me like I hadn’t spoken.

I followed him. “Adrian, please. Just… talk to me.”

He turned then. Slowly. His eyes were darker than usual. Tired, maybe. Or just full of things he’d never say to my face.

“Why?” he asked, his tone dry. “So you can act hurt again? Like you didn’t know exactly what this marriage was when you walked into it?”

His words landed like slaps. Cold and deliberate.

I swallowed. “I didn’t expect a fairy tale. But I didn’t expect this either. A year of silence, of sleeping alone. You didn’t even come home on our anniversary.”

He let out a bitter laugh and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “You really planned something, didn’t you?”

I nodded, slowly. “Yes. Because I thought maybe you’d want to share something real with me for once.”

“Real?” he echoed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cruel smile. “Alessia, you’re not my lover. You’re just my wife.”

That line. Those words. They burned.

I stood frozen, every bone in my body holding itself together because if I let go, I would shatter.

“Do you hate me that much?” I whispered, the question falling from my lips before I could stop it. “Do I disgust you?”

He didn’t answer. He looked away.

That hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

“Adrian—” My voice cracked. “Please. I’m not asking for love. I’m not asking for some perfect marriage. Just… don’t treat me like I’m nothing. I want your respect!”

His silence stretched between us, tight and cruel. I took a step forward. My fingers brushed his sleeve.

He flinched.

I pulled my hand back like I’d touched fire.

“I gave up everything to be here,” I whispered. “My life. My freedom. My self-respect. All because I believed that maybe, eventually, we could be more than a business arrangement.”

Something in his expression shifted. A flicker of something—anger? Guilt? I couldn’t tell. He pushed off the wall and moved past me.

I followed him, heart racing. “Stop walking away from me, Adrian! Just once—look at me and tell me what I did to make you hate me this much!”

He spun on me so fast I stumbled backward. His face was inches from mine, his jaw clenched tight, his breath warm with whiskey.

“You want honesty?” he snapped. “Fine. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want you. You were forced on me. You were a deal. A solution to someone else’s problem. And now I’m stuck playing house with a woman I never chose.”

My chest cracked wide open. The pain was so sudden it felt physical.

“I never asked to be chosen,” I said, voice shaking. “But I’m here. I’ve been here. Every damn day trying to make this work. Trying to reach you while you run off with other women and pretend I don’t exist!”

He stared at me, and something shifted again. This time it wasn’t just anger. It was confusion. Heat. Something he didn’t want to feel.

He gritted his teeth and spoke with his rough voice. "Damn it! Don't you ever regret this!"

Then he kissed me.

Hard.

Like punishment.

Like he hated himself for wanting it.

His hands gripped my arms and pulled me in, our bodies crashing together. My back hit the hallway wall with a dull thud, and for a second, all the pain melted into something hotter—wilder. His mouth was fierce and angry against mine, and I responded like someone who had waited too long to be seen.

I hated how much I wanted him. How my body betrayed me with every touch. But I needed this. I needed something from him, even if it was messy and cruel and temporary.

Clothes came off in jagged movements. Breathless gasps filled the silence we’d drowned in for months. His mouth was on my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone—branding me in places he’d never touched before. There was no romance in it. No gentleness.

It was need. Raw and reckless.

And underneath all of it—my heart was breaking.

Because I knew this wasn’t love. This wasn’t reconciliation.

This was two broken people trying to feel anything.

Every thrust was laced with years of frustration, denial, and words we never said. I held onto him like I was drowning, nails digging into his back, tears slipping down my cheeks even as I kissed him back.

I didn’t know if he noticed. I don’t think he cared.

And when it was over, he pulled away like nothing happened.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at me.

He got dressed in silence, walked out of the bedroom, and shut the guest room door behind him.

Just like that.

No explanation.

No apology.

No goodnight.

I sat there on the edge of the bed, naked, legs trembling, my body aching from what we’d just done. But the ache in my chest was worse. So much worse.

Because even in our most intimate moment… I was still alone.

And that was the moment something inside me broke for good.