Chapter 10: The Drunk Husband

Aria’s POV

I was in the guest room reading when I heard the front door slam open.

It was past midnight. Jason’s meetings were supposed to end at eight. 

I’d stopped checking the time hours ago, it was no longer my place to care where he was or who he was with.

The house was silent except for the sound of uneven footsteps in the hallway. Heavy, stumbling footsteps that got louder as he walked towards me.

The door to the guest room swung open without a knock.

Jason stood in the doorway, with his tie loosened, his shirt was partially untucked. His eyes were unfocused, his face flushed. He reeked of whiskey.

I’d never seen him drunk before. In two years of marriage, Jason Hartley tried his best to always be in control.

“There you are,” he slurred slightly. “My wife. Hiding in the guest room like a… like a guest.”

I set my book down slowly. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh I thought that was obvious.” He stepped into the room, swaying slightly. “Always so observant, Aria. Always watching, always… always there. Just there.”

“You should go to bed.”

“Should I?” He moved closer. “Should I go to bed alone? In my big empty bedroom while my wife sleeps in here like… like we’re strangers?”

“We are strangers.”

He laughed. It was an ugly sound. “Two years of marriage and now you figure that out. Brilliant.”

I stood up from the bed, keeping distance between us. “Jason, you need to sleep this off.”

“I don’t need to do anything.” He took another step forward. “Except maybe to remind my wife of her duties.”

My stomach turned. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His eyes were glazed but there was something darker underneath. “Don’t touch my own wife? Don't piss me off this evening”

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” He reached for me, his hand closing around my wrist. “Come here.”

I tried to pull away. His grip tightened.

“Jason, let go.”

“Why?” He pulled me closer. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, thick and sour. “Why won’t you let me touch you? You’re my wife.”

“You don’t want to touch me. Go and touch her instead."

His eyes narrowed. “Her?”

“Your freaking mistress.Get out of my room.”

“Your room?” He laughed again. “Nothing in this penthouse is yours, Aria. Nothing. It’s all mine. Including you.”

He reached for me again, but this time I was ready. I stepped back, and he stumbled forward, off-balance.

He caught himself on the dresser, breathing hard.

“Why won’t you just…” He turned to look at me, and there was something desperate in his eyes now. “Why can’t you just be her?”

The words hung in the air between us.

“What?”

“Isabelle.” Her name came out broken. “Why can’t you be like her? Why can’t you laugh like her, talk like her, make me feel like…” He stopped, shook his head. “Violet looks like her. Sounds like her. When I close my eyes, I can almost…”

“You’re pathetic,” I said quietly.

His head snapped up. “What did you say?”

“You’re pathetic. A pathetic man clinging to a dead woman’s ghost through her sister. Using me to secure your inheritance while you chase shadows.” 

I took a step toward him. “You’re not the powerful CEO everyone thinks you are. You’re just broken. And you’re too much of a coward to fix yourself.”

His hand moved so fast I didn’t see it coming.

The slap knocked me sideways. I stumbled, my hand flying to my cheek, shock stealing my breath.

Jason stood there, his chest heaving, his hand still raised. For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then his face contorted with rage.

“Don’t you dare judge me,” he snarled. “You, who married me for money. You, who signed that prenup without reading it because you were so desperate to be Mrs. Jason Hartley.”

“Jason…”

“You’re nothing!” The words exploded out of him. 

“Nothing compared to her. Isabelle was brilliant, beautiful, alive. She lit up every room she entered. And you…” He gestured at me with disgust. “You’re just shadows. Just empty space shaped like a woman.”

Each word was a knife, but I refused to flinch.

“Isabelle would have understood my work,” he continued, drunk and vicious. 

“She would have supported me without needing constant validation. She never asked where I was going or who I was with because she trusted me. She was confident, self-assured…”

“She’s dead,” I said flatly.

He froze.

“She’s dead, Jason. She’s been dead for five years. And no amount of sleeping with her sister is going to bring her back.”

“Shut up.”

“Violet isn’t Isabelle. I’m not Isabelle. No one will ever be Isabelle because Isabelle is gone…”

“I said shut up!” He moved toward me again, but his foot caught on the edge of the rug.

I watched him fall. Didn’t move to catch him. Just stood there as he went down hard, landing on his hands and knees.

He stayed there, breathing heavily, his perfectly styled hair falling into his face.

“I loved her,” he said to the floor. His voice cracked. 

“I loved her so much. And then she died and everyone said I had to move on. I had to find someone new. I had to prove I could still run the company, still be stable, still be…” 

He looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I married you because I knew I could never love you. Because it was safer that way. Because losing you wouldn’t destroy me.”

The confession was probably meant to hurt. Instead, it just made me tired.

“Get up,” I said.

“Aria…”

“Get up, go to your room, and sleep it off.” I turned away from him. “Tomorrow you’ll barely remember this. You’ll go back to pretending everything is fine. And I’ll go back to counting down the days until I’m free of you.”

“You can’t leave…”

“I know. Eight months. You’ve made that very clear.” I walked to the bathroom and wet a washcloth, pressing it against my burning cheek.

 “But eight months will pass eventually. And when they do, I’m going to walk out of here and you’re going to die alone, chasing a ghost you can never catch.”

Behind me, I heard him struggling to his feet.

“I hate you,” he whispered.

“Good,” I said without turning around. “The feeling is mutual.”

His footsteps retreated down the hallway. A door slammed.

I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. A red mark was already forming on my cheek where he’d hit me. Tomorrow it would bruise.

Tomorrow I would cover it with makeup and pretend nothing happened.

But tonight, I took a photo of it with my phone.

Evidence.

Because Jason Hartley thought he held all the power in this marriage.

He was about to learn how wrong he was.