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Home / Romance / Dear Ex, See you never / Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Lahat ng Kabanata ng Dear Ex, See you never: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

116 Kabanata

the softened walls

Millicent's POVI keep running into Mike. At first I think it's coincidence since we share a kitchen, a library, and other common spaces that neither of us can avoid. The mansion is large enough that we could go days without crossing paths if we tried, but by the second week I start to suspect neither of us is trying. He's seeking me out the way I'm seeking him, both of us curious about this strange creature who shares our cage.I find him in the library one afternoon, curled up in a window seat with a book of poetry. The light catches the dust motes floating around him, and for a moment he looks almost ethereal, younger, softer, nothing like the wary stranger who confronted me in his room that first night."What are you reading?"He looks up, startled but not displeased, and shows me the cover. Rumi."He had someone too," Mike says quietly, his thumb tracing the spine of the book. "Someone the world didn't understand, someone he loved in ways that couldn't be spoken aloud, shams of

jealousy

Damon's POVI can't stop thinking about them laughing. It's irrational. I know it's irrational. Millicent and Mike sitting in my kitchen, drinking my wine, sharing jokes I wasn't part of, it shouldn't bother me. I don't own either of them. I don't have the right to be possessive.And yet.The image haunts me through meetings, through phone calls, through every attempt to focus on something that actually matters. Their heads bent close together. The way Mike's face lit up, relaxed in a way I rarely see. The sound of Millicent's laughter, unguarded and genuine.They looked comfortable with each other. They looked like friends, they looked like something I'm not part of.I find Mike in his room that night, reading by lamplight. He looks up when I enter, and I see him register my expression, the tension in my jaw, the edge in my posture, the storm I'm barely containing."You seem upset," he says carefully, setting down his book."I'm not upset.""You're something." He stands and moves to

the ex resurfaces

Millicent's POVSeven texts since the first one. I've ignored every single one, watched them pile up in my notifications like trash accumulating on a curb. Each one more pathetic than the last."Can we please talk?""I know I messed up. Just give me a chance to explain.""Milli, please. I'm going through something.""You can't just ignore me forever.""I'm your husband."That last one made me laugh out loud. My husband. As if a piece of paper and two years of abuse gave him some eternal claim on me. As if the divorce was just a temporary inconvenience in his grand plan for my life.I've been doing a good job of pretending he doesn't exist. The mansion helps, it's a world away from the life Brian knows, protected by gates and staff and a billionaire who, whatever else he is, doesn't seem like the type to let unwanted visitors through.But I can't live in the mansion forever.I'm at the studio finishing up with a client, a mother and her teenage daughter getting portraits for college a

the housekeeper's wisdom

Millicent's POVI find myself in the garden more and more these days.It's the one part of the mansion that doesn't feel like a performance. The roses don't care that I'm pretending to be married. The fountain doesn't judge my complicated arrangement with Damon and Mike. Out here, among the carefully tended plants and winding stone paths, I can almost forget that my life has become an elaborate lie.Elena finds me on a bench near the rose bushes, staring at nothing.She doesn't say anything at first, just sets down a tray with tea and two cups, pours for both of us, and settles onto the other end of the bench. The silence stretches, comfortable rather than awkward. She's not demanding an explanation. She's just present."I don't know who I am anymore," I say finally.Elena sips her tea and waits."Before Brian, I was going to be a photographer. A real one. Travel the world, capture moments, build something meaningful." I wrap my hands around my cup and let the warmth seep into my fi

the drunk confession

Millicent's POVThe house smells like vodka and regret.I knew it would before I even opened the door. My mother has two settings these days: barely functional and actively self-destructing. The fact that she didn't answer my calls for two days told me exactly which setting I'd find."Mom?" I step over a pile of laundry in the entryway, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. All the curtains are drawn. "Mom, it's me."I find her in the living room, sprawled on the couch in the same robe she was wearing last week when I visited. Empty bottles line the coffee table like soldiers in a defeated army. She looks up when I enter, her eyes glassy and unfocused."Milli." She smiles, sloppy and sad. "My baby girl. Married to a billionaire. Who would've thought?""I came to check on you. And to get some of Josh's old things from the attic.""Always so practical. Just like your father." She laughs bitterly. "Well, like the man you thought was your father."I freeze halfway across the room. "What?""

the research

Millicent's POVThe photograph lives in my dresser drawer, hidden under scarves I never wear.Every night, after Josh is asleep and the mansion has gone quiet, I take it out and study the man's face. I've memorized every detail by now, the silver hair swept back from a broad forehead, the strong jaw that speaks of authority, the expensive watch glinting on his wrist. His posture radiates the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you own everything around you. And his hand on my mother's waist, possessive and proud, like she was the most precious thing he'd ever touched.I've searched online for hours, trying to match his face to something, anything. Old society photographs from the eighties and nineties. Business profiles of wealthy men in my mother's hometown. News articles from twenty-five years ago, back when she would have been young and beautiful and apparently in love with someone who wasn't my father.Nothing.It's like he never existed. Like he was a ghost even then, so

the pattern breaks

Millicent's POVJosh is fine when I put him to bed. I check on him three times, the way I always do. His breathing is steady, his color is good, and he clutches Mr. Hop to his chest while murmuring something in his sleep that might be "mama" or might be nothing at all.I kiss his forehead and go to my room.At 3:47 AM, I wake to a sound that will haunt me for the rest of my life.It's not a cry or a cough. It's a wet, rattling gasp, the sound of lungs that can't get enough air, of a tiny body fighting to breathe and losing.I'm out of bed before I'm fully conscious, running to the nursery with my heart in my throat.Josh is in his crib with his lips blue and his chest heaving with the effort of each breath. His eyes are open but unfocused, scared, like he doesn't understand what's happening to his body."Help!" The scream tears out of me, raw and animal. "Someone help me!"I scoop him up and feel how hot he is, feel the way his little ribs are working overtime just to pull in oxygen.

the shift

Millicent's POVThe mansion looks different when we pull through the gates.I've been gone for four days. Four days of hospital fluorescents and beeping monitors and sleeping in a chair next to Josh's bed. Four days of doctors explaining things I already knew about his immune system, his vulnerabilities, the careful balance required to keep his small body functioning. Four days of fear that I'd somehow lose him, that this would be the crisis that finally took him from me.But he's here now, strapped into his car seat, drowsy from medication but breathing normally. His color is good, and his eyes, when he opens them, are clear and curious, watching the trees blur past the window like they're the most interesting thing he's ever seen."Almost home," I tell him, and the word catches in my throat.Home. When did I start thinking of this place as home?The car stops at the front entrance, and before I can unbuckle Josh's car seat the door opens. Elena is there with her silver hair pulled b

the photograph identified

Millicent's POVThe envelope arrives on a Tuesday.Elena brings it to me in the library, where I've been pretending to read the same chapter for the past hour. Her expression is carefully neutral, but I catch the slight hesitation before she hands it over."From Mr. Hale's investigator," she says. "He asked me to deliver it personally."My hands are trembling before I even touch it. I've been waiting for this for weeks, the answer to the question my mother was too drunk to finish asking, the identity of the man in the photograph. Part of me hoped the investigator would find nothing, that the trail would go cold and I could return to my blissful ignorance.But the envelope is thick. Heavy with information."Thank you, Elena."She nods and withdraws, closing the library door behind her. I'm alone with my past, sealed in cream-colored paper and waiting to explode.I don't open it immediately. Instead I set it on the table in front of me and stare at it, as if looking long enough might re

the gala

Millicent's POVThe dress is emerald green again, different cut, same color. Mark the stylist insisted."It's your signature now," he said, circling me with pins in his mouth and judgment in his eyes. "The photographers expect it. The society pages have already dubbed you 'the Emerald Mrs. Hale.' And we don't mess with brand recognition."I didn't argue. I've learned that arguing with Mark is pointless, and besides, I don't care what color I'm wearing. I care about getting through tonight without falling apart.Tonight is the Children's Hospital Foundation gala, a cause I actually believe in, unlike the corporate networking events and society fundraisers that usually fill our calendar. I've been looking forward to it for weeks, a chance to support something meaningful, to pretend for a few hours that my life has purpose beyond performing devotion to a man I'm contractually obligated to.But that was before I learned about Kent Henry.Now, as I descend the stairs and find Damon waitin

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