Frozen in the hallway, my heartbeat thudded like a violent drum against my ribs as I stared at Rafe's closed office door. The slam still echoed in my ears, a physical representation of the walls he'd just thrown up between us. Gabriel. Whoever he was, he'd carved a wound in Rafe so deep that even the mention of his name had turned the almost-warm man from dinner into this cold, shuttered stranger.
Slowly inching closer, I pressed my palm against the cool wood of the door, feeling torn between walking away and pushing forward.
Walking away would be easier. Let him sit alone with his demons, his secrets. It wasn't my job to fix whatever was broken inside Rafael de Luca. I wasn't even his real wife, just a convenient solution to his parents' schemes.
And yet…
I couldn't shake the memory of his face when his parents had mentioned Gabriel, the way something in his eyes had shattered before hardening into pure ice.
“Screw it,” I muttered, squaring my shoulders and wrapping my fingers around the doorknob. Pushing the door open without knocking, I stepped inside.
Rafe sat behind his massive desk, another tumbler of amber liquid clutched in one hand. He didn't look up when I entered, his gaze fixed on some point on the wall that only he could see. He looked like a statue again—beautiful and cold and utterly unreachable.
“Rafe,” I said softly, stopping a few feet from his desk. “Please talk to me.”
He didn't react, didn't even blink.
I took another step closer, close enough now that I could see the slight tremor in his hand, contradicting the perfect stillness of his posture. “I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to right now. But I can see you're hurting.”
Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment that I existed in his space.
“Sometimes it helps to just unload on someone who's willing to listen,” I continued, my voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “And I am willing to listen, Rafe. Even after everything... I'd listen.”
The silence stretched between us, growing heavier with each passing second. I waited, counting my heartbeats while watching for any sign that he'd heard me.
Ten beats.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Finally, I stepped back, a knot forming in my throat. “Okay. I get it. You don't want to talk.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “But if you change your mind...”
I let the sentence dangle and turned to leave. I was halfway to the door when I heard the soft clink of glass against wood as he set down his tumbler. I looked back over my shoulder and hiseyes met mine for the first time since I'd entered, but they were empty—polished obsidian reflecting absolutely nothing.
“Leave it alone, Cecelia.” His voice was so low I almost didn't hear it. “Please.”
Thepleasecaught me off guard. I'd never heard him use that word with such raw vulnerability before. It made my chest ache in a way I wasn't prepared for.
“I...” I started, then stopped. I didn't know how to navigate this moment, this strange intimacy that wasn't intimate at all. I didn't know how to reach across the chasm he'd placed between us.
So, I nodded once and left.
In the hallway again, I leaned against the wall and exhaled a shaky breath. My fingers trembled as I pulled my phone from the small clutch I'd carried to dinner and scrolled through my contacts until I found the one person who wouldn't ask too many questions.
Izzy answered on the second ring. “This better be good. I'm in the middle of an epic Bridgerton rewatch.”
“Want to go dancing tonight?” My voice cracked slightly, betraying more than I wanted to.
There was a long stretch of silence before Izzy spoke. “Are you okay?”
“I will be after several tequila shots and some loud music.”
“Say no more. Mirage? One hour?”
Relief washed through me, so intense I nearly slid down the wall. “Yes. Thank you.”
“That's what friends are for. Showing up with tequila when life gives us limes… or is it lemons.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?”
