"Fix what? The fact that you betrayed both our families. The fact that Adrian is closing in on the truth. The fact that I'm about to lose everything because I couldn't control my wife?"
Each word is a knife.
"Saint, please?—"
"There's nothing to fix." He turns back to the window. "It's over."
Tears are streaming down my face now. "Are you divorcing me?"
A pause. Long. Endless.
I hold my breath.
"No."
Relief floods through me, desperate and pathetic. I hate myself for this feeling. It's disgusting. And yet, I can't stop it.
I've been discarded by my family, and I don't know if I can handle if the same thing happens to me with Saint.
"But only because a divorce right now would show more weakness. It would raise questions." He's still not looking at me. "So you'll stay and play your role." He frowns. "It's the least you can do."
"And us?" My voice is barely a whisper.
"There is no us." He looks at me, and for a moment I see the pain underneath the anger. "You destroyed my trust. You put my family at risk. You went to my enemy behind my back."
"I didn't?—"
"There's nothing. Just duty. Just..." He stops. "Maybe that changes someday. Maybe it doesn't. But right now? There's nothing."
"I love you." The words pour out desperately. This is my last-ditch effort. "I want to make this work."
"I know." His voice softens just slightly. "And that might be the worst part."
We pull up to the compound. Saint gets out immediately.
"Unpack," he says. "Rest. Whatever you need to do. I have meetings."
"Saint, wait?—"
But he's already gone. Striding into the house like I don't exist.
I sit in the car, Emmanuel politely looking away, and I fall apart.
Not pregnant. Family in shambles. Husband who can barely look at me.
This is what rock bottom feels like.
I don't know how long I sit there. Eventually, Emmanuel gently suggests I go inside.
I make it to our bedroom before the sobs hit again.
There is no us. Not right now.
I curl up on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest.
Bianca's voice echoes in my head: Nero women don't cry. We strategize.
But I'm not a Nero anymore. I'm a Marini. And apparently, I'm not very good at that either.
