Chapter 3

Ariel Payne POV:

"This is going to need stitches," the doctor at the urgent care clinic said, his voice gentle. "It' s a deep cut. It will almost certainly leave a scar."

A scar. Another one to add to the collection Desmond had left on me, though the others weren't visible on my skin.

I remembered a time, years ago, when I' d gotten a paper cut while helping him organize his research notes. It was a tiny thing, barely a scratch, but he had acted like I' d been mortally wounded. He' d cleaned it with an antiseptic wipe, carefully applied a bandage, and kissed my finger, his eyes full of a tenderness that had made my heart ache with love.

That man was gone. Or maybe he had never existed at all. It was over. That much was finally, irrevocably clear.

My phone buzzed with a text from him.

Desmond: Heard you had an accident. Is your hand okay? I' ve asked my secretary to handle the medical bills. Let her know if you need anything.

He was outsourcing his concern. He couldn' t even be bothered to feign it himself anymore.

Me: I' m fine. I don' t need your help.

I paid the bill myself with the last of my savings and took a cab back to the house. The silence inside was a physical presence, pressing in on me from all sides. I swallowed two painkillers and fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep on the couch.

I was startled awake hours later. The front door was opening. Desmond was home. It was nearly 3 a.m. He moved through the darkened living room, his silhouette backlit by the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He smelled faintly of expensive perfume-Aurora' s perfume-and whiskey.

He saw me on the couch and his movements stilled. He came over and knelt beside me, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair. "Ariel," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and alcohol. He leaned in, his lips finding mine.

I flinched away, a sharp, stabbing pain shooting up my arm from my stitched hand. "Don' t," I whispered, the word barely audible.

He pulled back, his brow furrowed in confusion. In the dim light, I could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes, as if he couldn' t comprehend my rejection. I had never rejected him before.

"Sorry," he said, his voice clearing slightly. He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "It' s been a hell of a night. I' m sorry about what happened at the hotel. It was... complicated."

He looked at me then, his gaze softening into the practiced sincerity I knew so well. "You know you' re the only one for me, right? You' ll always be Mrs. Day. My only wife."

My only wife. The title felt like a joke. A cruel, pathetic joke. I was the wife he kept hidden in the attic, the one he was paying to disappear.

He seemed to take my silence as acquiescence. He stood up, stretching. "I'll sleep in the study tonight. Don't want to wake you."

He disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone with the throbbing in my hand and the hollowness in my chest.

Later, the pain in my palm woke me again. I tiptoed to the kitchen for more painkillers. As I passed the study, I heard the low murmur of his voice. He was on the phone. I pressed my ear to the door, my heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest.

"Yes, the papers are signed," he was saying, his voice crisp and professional now, all traces of sleep and alcohol gone. "Harrison has the original. We can officially announce my marital status as 'divorced' to the board tomorrow morning."

There was a pause. I could imagine the person on the other end, probably Aurora, asking a question.

"I know, I was surprised she agreed so easily too," Desmond continued, a note of smug satisfaction in his tone. "She' s always been... emotional. But I think she finally understood that this was for the best. She' s more considerate than I gave her credit for."

Considerate. He thought I was being considerate. He had no idea that I had simply given up.

"Don' t worry, darling," he said, his voice dropping to that intimate, caressing tone he used to use only with me. "Everything is on track. The IPO is in a month. On that day, in front of the whole world, I will get down on one knee and ask you to be my wife."

He was giving her my proposal. The one he' d promised me.

"I know, I know. I love you too." Another pause. His next words were colder, sharper, laced with a venom that made my blood run cold.

"Her? No, we won' t have any more problems. Honestly, Aurora, you have to understand... the years I spent with her, clawing my way out of poverty... that wasn' t a life. It was a nightmare. A shameful chapter I can' t wait to close for good."

My body started to tremble uncontrollably. A low, guttural sound escaped my throat, something between a sob and a scream. I clamped my good hand over my mouth, biting down on my knuckles to stifle the noise.

A nightmare.

My sacrifice, my love, my entire youth... it was all just a shameful nightmare he couldn' t wait to wake up from.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. The pain in my hand was nothing. A dull, distant ache. The real wound was in my soul, a vast, black hole where my heart used to be.

I stumbled back from the door, my vision blurring. A laugh, high and hysterical, clawed its way up my throat.

He was right. It was a nightmare. And I had finally, finally woken up.

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