She exhales hard and rubs her temple. “I’ll stay some nights at your place. When I’m not working.”
That stops me.
“Working?”
“At the Reserve.”
My pulse ticks. “You’re not working there anymore.”
Her head snaps up. “Excuse me?”
“My wife won’t work in a bar.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I don’t blink. “I’m not.”
She scoffs. “This—this—is exactly what I was trying to tell you when I gave you the list of reasons not to marry me. I told you I wasn’t built for this.”
“And I ignored it,” I reply. “Because I don’t care about your list. I care about what we agreed to.”
“No,” she says firmly. “Youdecided this. You chose. You announced it and made it real. Don’t act like I drew up a contract.”
I grit my teeth. “We’ll discuss it over dinner tomorrow night.”
She grabs her bag and stands before we’ve even come to a full stop.
“I have work.”
“Sabrina—”
“I’ll call you,” she says, turning away.
And before I can reach for her, before I can tell her she’s not going anywhere without me—she’s already halfway down the stairs.
Straight into my waiting town car.
And I watch it drive off. Without me.
Thehouse is dark when I walk in.
Not physically—motion lights click on the moment I step through the door, and everything in the front hall glows like a high-end catalog.
But still, it’sdark.
Empty in a way I’ve never noticed before.
Everything is where it should be—polished wood floors, tall ceilings, minimalist black-and-white artwork lining the walls. It's clean. Expensive. Precise.
Just like me.
Or at least, just like I thought I was.
But now?
Now all I can think about is how much she’s going to hate it.
The silence. The order. The lack of anything warm or human. It’s not a home—it's four walls with a yard.
