Chapter 2 2

Richard's POV

The sting of her slap lingers on my skin like fire under ice. I barely flinch, but my mother's fury lands heavier than her palm ever could.

Her voice trembles with rage. "You selfish, arrogant boy."

I don't answer. I'm too tired to fight the same war again. She's crying now, quiet, controlled, but I see it. Her hands clench into fists at her sides like she's holding back the world.

"You're destroying a good woman," she whispers. "A woman who saved your life."

I clench my jaw. Not this again.

"Don't turn this into some guilt parade. I didn't ask Arabel to save me."

Her eyes snap up, bright with fire. "You wouldn't be alive if she hadn't."

The silence presses between us like a wall. I shift on my feet, suddenly restless. My heart's thumping. Not because of guilt, because I'm done pretending.

"No, Mother," I say, my voice sharp, solid. "I'm not going to beg Arabel to stay. I want the divorce. I'm doing what I should have done years ago."

"You're a fool."

"Maybe. But at least I'll be an honest one."

She stares at me like she doesn't recognize the son she raised. But I recognize myself more clearly now than I ever have. I've lived three years pretending that kindness is the same as love. That loyalty is enough. But pretending is a slow kind of death.

"I love Eve," I say softly, like a vow. "I always have."

My mother steps back like I struck her. "She left you."

"She left because I lied. Because I married Arabel. Because I gave up on what I wanted."

"And now you'll hurt another woman because of your regrets?"

I don't respond. I don't need to. The truth hangs there between us. Heavy. Ugly.

She wipes her cheek and levels a glare at me that could carve stone. "Then you deserve whatever comes next."

With that, she turns and storms out, heels clicking like war drums on the marble floor.

I breathe out slowly, a mixture of release and dread. I should feel free.

But all I feel is unsettled.

I sink into my office chair and lean forward, elbows on the desk. The papers are still warm from her hands. Divorce documents. My name and Arabel's written side by side like strangers forced to share a sentence.

This isn't just the end of a marriage. It's the closing of a debt. One I never asked to owe.

My hand moves to the photo on my desk, a picture of Arabel and me, taken on our second anniversary. We're smiling, or pretending to. She's looking at me. I'm looking at the camera.

I slide the photo face-down.

I owe her honesty, if not love.

The truth is, I never hated Arabel. She was kind. Soft. Predictable. But I never felt fire. Not the way I did with Eve. Eve was chaos and clarity all at once. She challenged me. Saw through me. Broke me and still made me want more.

And I broke her.

I remember the look in her eyes when I told her I was marrying someone else. I remember how she didn't scream. She just left. Cool. Controlled. Like she'd already buried us.

She went to London, started her PhD, and disappeared from my world for three years.

Until last week.

Until the kiss.

Until I realized everything I buried still burns.

Now she's back, and this time, I won't let her go.

I grab my coat, shove the divorce papers into my briefcase, and head out. My driver greets me with a nod, but I wave him off. I want to drive myself. I need the distraction, the control, the space to think.

The engine hums to life, and I speed toward her apartment, the one I bought for her five years ago just to keep her close. I told Arabel it was an investment. It was a lie. Like so many others.

The streets blur past. My pulse races. All I can think about is her voice, her mouth, her eyes.

I pull up in front of her building, kill the engine, and jog to the entrance. The guard recognizes me and doesn't stop me. He never does.

I take the stairs two at a time. Adrenaline courses through me. I should feel nervous. But I don't. I feel... alive.

I knock.

No answer.

I knock again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

I try the knob on instinct and it turns. Unlocked.

Strange.

I push the door open slowly. The living room is empty, but her phone buzzes on the coffee table with my missed call flashing across the screen.

"Eve?" I call out. My voice echoes.

No response.

Maybe she's asleep. She used to take long naps when she was reading or stressed.

I walk toward her bedroom. The hallway is dim. Her perfume lingers in the air, vanilla and danger.

I pause at her door.

A sound reaches me.

A moan.

Soft. Sharp. Definitely not a yawn.

I freeze.

Another moan, louder this time. "Yes... Jake..."

The name hits me like a bat to the chest.

Jake?

My hand slips from the doorframe.

Jake?

Another moan. Laughter. Sheets rustling.

I can't move.

Can't breathe.

I hear her again. "Harder."

No.

No, no, no.

My palm is sweating. Rage builds like pressure behind my eyes.

I push the door open.

The world stops.

There she is, Eve, naked and glowing with sweat. Tangled in bed sheets. Her back arched, hair wild, chest heaving.

Not with me.

With him.

The man between her legs jerks upright.

And when he turns....

The final blow.

Jake Davenport.

My best friend.

My business partner.

My fucking best man at my wedding to Arabel.

He's the one inside her.

He's the one making her moan.

He's the one who didn't stop when I walked in.

The room spins.

Eve gasps and scrambles for the sheet, pressing it to her chest. But her eyes, God, her eyes, they don't say sorry. They say busted.

Jake looks stunned. Guilty. Silent.

I laugh. A short, ugly sound.

"Well," I say, my voice flat. "I guess we're all liars."

Eve opens her mouth, but I shake my head.

"Don't," I whisper. "Just... don't."

My vision tunnels. I turn before I kill someone.