But I’m focused.
And whoever thought they could touch my wife and walk away?
They just learned how wrong they were.
I don’t say a word.
Not when I guide her out of the Reserve. Not when I open the car door and make sure she’s inside. Not when I get behind the wheel and pull away from the curb.
The silence is deliberate. Controlled. If I open my mouth right now, something ugly will come out—and I refuse to be that man with her.
My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles ache.
I’m furious.
Furious at Elliott for touching her like he had any right. Furious at the way he said her name like it still belonged to him. Furious at myself for letting him get under my skin at all.
And yes—furious at Sabrina.
For going back to the damn Reserve. For putting herself in a position where he could get near her. For acting like this marriage is something she’s just… enduring.
One year.
She keeps saying it like a shield.
One year like it’s a sentence she’s counting down. Like she’s already planning her escape.
The road blurs beneath the headlights as I replay everything she’s said, everything she’s done since the moment we signed those papers.
She told me from the beginning it was only one year. She went back to work even after I told her I’d help her—fund her nonprofit, back her dreams, give her space to build something that mattered. She listened when I talked. Saw the parts of me no one outside my circle ever does.
And still—
She doesn’t want me the way I want her.
That truth lands heavy in my chest.
I’d felt bad this morning. Thought maybe I’d pushed too hard. That I’d let stress turn me sharp around the edges and owed her softness instead.
Now?
Now I see it clearly.
I can’t afford to keep giving her pieces of myself when she’s already halfway out the door.
This marriage was never supposed to be emotional. It was supposed to be strategic. Temporary. Clean.
My father’s legacy. A business move. A year of doing what was required.
I swore I’d never force anyone into loving me.
And yet here I am—married to a woman who keeps reminding me she didn’t choose me.
I exhale slowly through my nose, forcing the heat in my chest down, locking it away where it belongs.
Fine.
If she wants distance, she can have it. If she wants a year, I’ll give her exactly that.
