THE QUEEN’S MOVE
This game ends with the queen’s move
Leah
What I remember most is the smell of fresh paint.
The living room was half-finished—a new shade of warm cream on one wall, the rest still bare, waiting. We had moved in only a couple of weeks ago. The house wasn’t big, but it was ours. Or rather, his. Dorian had been stubborn about that—refusing my father’s offer to help us get a bigger place in a better neighborhood. He wanted to provide for us himself. And, truth be told, he was doing fine. The business was growing, jobs were steady, things were looking up.
But looking up had never been enough for me.
I stood in the doorway of the bedroom with my last suitcase—my hand resting lightly on the handle. I had timed this. Of course, I had. I’d left everything exactly as I wanted him to find it: empty.
The house was stripped bare, just space and silence. A single bucket of paint sat in the living room. I left it there on purpose—a reminder of the life I didn’t want.
He stepped inside on crutches, his right ankle in a fresh cast, looking tired. His eyes swept the room once, twice. Confusion turned to realization.
“Leah? What’s going on?”
I smoothed my hair, and gave him the smallest smile I could manage. Soft enough to sting later.
“I can’t do this anymore, Dorian.” My voice stayed calm, almost gentle. “This life… it’s not what I want.”
His jaw tightened. “Because I broke my leg? Because I can’t work for a few weeks? Leah, we’re fine—”
“It’s not about that.” I cut him off before he could make it noble. My voice stayed soft, calm—the kind that sinks in deeper than shouting.
“When we met in college, you walked like a demigod who couldn’t be bothered with the mortals around you. You always had a short, sharp answer for everything.”
Dorian’s brows knit, his grip on the crutches tightening.
“I was a modest freshman, and you were a polished senior, already belonging everywhere I didn’t. I was just finding my way in a new world. You were the one who walked through it like you owned it.”
I smiled faintly, remembering. How I had seen him then: beautiful, untouchable, and how I’d made it my mission to make him mine. To own his thoughts. His heart.
“Yes, I did,” I said softly. “And I chose you. I wanted us to own that world together. I always knew you had more in you than you let anyone see. The way you looked at me… like there was nothing else. I felt adored.”
His voice cracked, low but steady.
“I did. I do, Leah.”
But I shook my head, my suitcase still between us like a quiet wall.
“I don’t feel worshiped anymore, Dorian. Now, all you talk about is a home, a family… Sunday mornings and barbecues in the yard. I’ve tried to picture myself in that life and… it’s not for me. It will never be.”
He shifted his weight on the crutches, frowning like he hadn’t heard me right.
“We just moved in. We're happy—”
“You are happy.” I stepped closer. “I need more than this. More than painting our own walls and talking about someday.”
I didn’t say the rest.
Dorian’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Hurt shadowing his face.
“Is there someone else?”
Not just someone. A life without limits, and a man who’d been happy to give me a taste of it—the excitement, the power, the world I was raised to belong to. I wasn’t walking into the unknown. I was stepping back into the life I was meant for.
