Chapter 5 The Ghost of Her Skin

Dominic Thorne did not care for being dismissed.

He was not in the habit of waiting. Or wanting. Or *losing*.

And here he was, in his multi-million dollar penthouse-glass walls, priceless paintings, city skyline glinting like shattered diamonds-and the loneliest man alive.

His phone rested on the table before him.

Dark. Quiet.

No call from Ariana. No message. No word.

It had been twelve days since she departed from his existence with her head held high, back straight, with eyes unencumbered by anything that could be called love.

Twelve days, and he hadn't been able to shake her out of his head.

Not once.

He remembered the last time he'd kissed her-her skin warm on his hand, her sigh a ghost on his lips. She hadn't responded, not really. She'd lain beneath him like she was somewhere else. He'd known, even then, he was losing her.

He just hadn't thought she'd actually *go*.

And now she was gone.

Actually gone.

Her phone no longer rang. Her apartment building security had been explicitly instructed to exclude him. Her lawyers would not answer his calls.

She shut him out like a tumor.

And it was eating away at him.

---

He sat in his office at Thorne Enterprises, looking at Ariana's empty desk. She'd pass through here with a pot of freshly brewed coffee, the fitted silk blouses she wore reddening his employees' faces and causing them to stutter. She'd nag him when he worked late, roll her eyes when he didn't notice his lunch.

Back then, he'd thought she was just *there*. Like the sun, or the air-constant, dependable, easy to overlook until it vanished.

He hadn't realized how much of his life she *was* until the silence swallowed everything.

Now, every corner of the building whispered her name.

His assistant, Mila, peeked her head in. "Mr. Thorne? You've missed two meetings."

Dominic didn't look up. "Cancel the rest."

"But the board-"

"I said cancel them."

Mila slipped away unnoticed. She knew by now: Dominic in a mood like this was trouble. Volatile.

But even she did not know the extent of it.

Did not know that every single second of every single day was racked with images of who Ariana was with now.

Was it Leo?

Was she laughing with him? Sharing her secrets in bed with him? Was he touching her like Dominic used to... when she still responded to his touch?

He leaned against the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

It wasn't jealousy any longer.

It was *regret*.

---

In another quarter of the city, Ariana stood in front of her bathroom mirror, brushing out her damp hair. The pregnancy sickness had been missing today, and for once, she felt almost... normal.

She gazed down at herself-no visible bump yet, but her face was smoother, changed. As though something very ancient and protector had stirred within her skin.

She ran her hand gently over her belly.

"Hello, baby," she whispered.

A knock on the door startled her.

She glared. Sasha wasn't due until later.

She crept barefoot through the apartment and opened the door-only to have her heart thud brutally within her chest.

Dominic stood before her.

Black coat. Slate-grey eyes. A tension in his jaw she hadn't noticed since the first few years of their marriage.

She froze.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was low, but insistent. "You've been avoiding me."

"On purpose."

"I need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk."

He moved closer.

She stood in the doorway.

His eyes dropped, skating across her face, her body, the slight flush of color in her cheeks. His face changed-confused, suspicious.

"Let me in, Ariana."

"No."

He inclined his head to one side. "You're hiding something from me."

She swallowed, her hand jerking involuntarily over her belly. "Go, Dominic. You don't get to show up whenever it suits you to remember I exist."

He didn't budge. "You were with someone. That night. The night you vanished."

Her expression turned cold.

"Does it matter?"

He blinked. "It shouldn't."

She allowed a harsh laugh. "Then why are you here? Because you were bored? Lonely? Because the puppet stopped dancing when you tugged the strings?"

His face darkened. "You think I don't care."

"I *know* you didn't. Not when it mattered."

The silence drew out.

"I do now."

Too late, she believed. *Too damn late.*

Her chest tightened. Not with anger-but with the hurt that always came out when he almost sounded like the man she'd loved.

Almost.

But she couldn't soften. Not now.

Not with a secret growing inside her.

"Go," she whispered, but definitively. "We signed the papers. You don't get to play husband anymore."

He stood there for a long time, looking at her.

Then spun, jaw set, and walked away without a word.

The moment the door shut, Ariana fell to the floor, hugging herself.

She hated him.

She hated that she didn't.

---

That night, Dominic couldn't sleep.

He was in the middle of his king-sized bed, the sheets cold and unrumpled. He glared at the ceiling as if it were full of answers, as if it could tell him what he'd done wrong.

Ariana's words echoed in his head.

*You didn't care when it mattered.*

He'd cared. But he'd kept it hidden. Buried it under ambition, control, a need to conquer the world before the world conquered him.

She'd always asked for pieces of him he didn't know how to give.

So he gave her silence instead.

Distance.

And she'd stopped asking.

Now she was gone-and all the power in the world couldn't bring her back.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknown number.

He frowned, then answered.

Silence on the other end.

Then a voice-male, low, amused.

"You're slipping, Thorne."

Dominic sat up, muscles coiled. "Who is this?"

"Know who. I was in her when you were too busy playing make-believe she wasn't there. She screamed my name like a prayer, and once did she scream yours."

Dominic's heart locked up.

The voice couldn't be traced; it had been disguised-but the words cut like a bullet.

*Leo.*

Rage. White and blinding.

He stood up, his teeth clenching together so hard they popped.

*She slept with him. She wanted him.*

Someone had touched where was *his*.

And she hadn't even blinked when he'd appeared today.

She wasn't scared of him anymore.

She didn't love him anymore.

He bashed his fist against the wall.

Plaster cracked.

He didn't care.

All he knew was one thing:

**Ariana Vale may be out of his life-but Dominic Thorne was far from finished.**

Far from it.