Only him.
My husband—strong, controlled, unshakable—looks like he’s coming apart piece by piece, and the sight of it hurts worse than anything Elliott ever said or did.
“Langston,” I whisper.
His name comes out broken. A plea more than a sound.
I reach for his face, my hand shaking as I brush my thumb along his cheek. His skin is warm, but he feels distant—like he’s already halfway gone.
He doesn’t look at me at first.
When he finally does, my chest caves in.
There is no anger there.
No rage.
Just devastation.
Like the world ended quietly and no one told him except his heart.
I never want to see that look again. Not as long as I live.
“It’s not what you think,” I rush out, words tumbling over each other. “You misheard me. Langston, you didn’t hear the whole thing.”
His breath stutters.
“My world stops and starts with you,” he says hoarsely. “And you’re still thinking about leaving me.”
The words crush me.
A single tear slips down his cheek.
Mine follows it.
“No,” I say immediately. Fiercely. “No.”
I climb into his lap without asking, straddling him like the only place I belong is right here. My arms wrap around his neck, my forehead pressed to his.
“I was shutting him down,” I tell him, voice shaking. “I was telling him he has no claim on me. That even if this marriage started as something temporary, he was never an option.”
My hands cradle his face, forcing him to see me.
“I don’t want to leave you,” I say, every word carved straight from my chest. “I would choose you every time. I don’t care if you rip up the contract with my father. I don’t care if you tear up our marriage license.”
My voice breaks, but I don’t stop.
“I still pick you. I would still stay with you. Always.”
Something shifts in his eyes.
Like he’s finally hearing me.
Like the noise in his head goes quiet enough for the truth to land.
His hands come up to my hips, gripping me like he needs the pressure to stay upright. Like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered.
“I love you,” he says.
