Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Husband Pretended I Was His Friend : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 8

(Arielle)“Damian lied to you. He’s actually your husband, and you have a son together,” Nathaniel Cross said. He said it quietly, the way someone sets down something fragile. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment the only sound in the hospital room was the machine beside my bed, counting out my heartbeat in patient green lines. I stared at him. A tall man in a charcoal suit, no tie, a face that gave nothing away unless it chose to. He had walked in as if he had every right to be here, and yet he had not come one step closer to my bed until I looked at him. “I’m sorry,” I said. My voice was still rough from disuse. “Who are you?” “Nathaniel Cross.” He paused. “You wouldn’t remember me. We met twice, briefly, at charity galas. You were the only person in the room who asked the caterers if they’d eaten.” I almost smiled. Almost. “That sounds like something I’d do.” “It is something you’d do.” His gaze held mine. “Which is why I can’t stand by and watch this.” “Watch

(Arielle)I don't know how long I stood at the window after the sedan was gone. Long enough for the glass to go fully dark, and for my reflection to become the only thing in it. "I want to leave," I said. Nathaniel didn't ask whether I was sure. "The doctor will want to keep you overnight." "Then the doctor can write whatever she needs me to sign. I can't sleep in this building. Every afternoon he sat in that chair and watched me thank him." My voice stayed level, which surprised me. "I keep thinking about how kind I was to him." "Give me ten minutes." It took him twelve. I never learned exactly what he said to the attending physician, but she came in with a clipboard and a tight expression, went through the concussion checklist twice, and made me promise to return at the first sign of dizziness. Nathaniel carried the folder of discharge papers. A nurse brought a wheelchair. I let her, because my legs had not entirely forgiven me for the morning. Nobody had packed my things. The

(Arielle)Damian found me in under two days.I should have known he would. Ten years of marriage had taught me that Damian Sterling did not lose things. He recovered them.I was in Nathaniel's kitchen, barefoot, reading the morning news on a tablet I had no memory of being handed, when the doorman's voice came through the intercom. Polite. Strained."Mr. Cross, there's a gentleman here who insists he's expected."Nathaniel looked at me across the counter. He didn't say anything. He just waited, the way he always did, leaving the decision in my hands."Send him up," I said."Arielle." Quietly. "You don't have to see him.""I know." I set the tablet down. "That's why I want to."He nodded once and moved to stand by the window, far enough away that this would be my scene and not his. I smoothed the front of my sweater. My hands were steady, which still surprised me.The elevator chimed.Damian came through the doors like a man walking onto a construction site he owned. Dark coat, no umbr

(Arielle)Nathaniel drove me to the Sterling house himself and parked across the street. I had asked him to wait in the car. He had agreed, but his hands stayed on the steering wheel, and he watched the front door as if it might bite."Twenty minutes," I said. "If I'm not out by then—""I'll come in.""You'll wait.""I'll wait," he said, in the tone of a man who had no intention of doing so.Damian had left for the office. I knew because I had checked, and because he had texted twice that morning, each message longer and more careful than the last. I hadn't answered either.The house looked exactly as I had left it. White stone, black shutters, the climbing roses I had planted the spring Ethan learned to walk. I used my own key. It still worked, which felt like an oversight on someone's part.The front hall smelled different. Lilies, heavy and sweet, where I had always kept eucalyptus. A vase of them sat on the console table, in the spot where Ethan's school photograph used to be.Viv