We pulled away from the estate.
“So...” Ramiro began after a few minutes, his tone cautious but neutral, “do you have a particular club in mind?”
I stared straight ahead into nothing.
“No,” I said flatly. “Just take me to whichever one is closest.”
My voice sounded distant even to me.
The humiliation from earlier still clung to me like a second skin.
No matter how much time passed, I could not shake it.
I had spent hours preparing Rafael’s favorite food, convincing myself it could be the beginning of something. A small gesture. A bridge. An acknowledgment that perhaps we could finally start becoming the couple he had once claimed he wanted us to be.
How foolish.
I had imagined us sitting across from one another at the table, sharing a meal instead of silence.
I had imagined conversation—awkward at first, perhaps, but real. I had imagined learning the things that made him laugh, the subjects that interested him, the thoughts he kept hidden behind that controlled exterior.
Instead, I had been reminded exactly where I stood.
Not beside him.
Not in his heart.
Not even in his future.
The moment Zara’s name entered the room, I ceased to exist. Suddenly it was not my effort he saw, not my intention, not the courage it had taken for me to reach toward him.
It was her.
Always her.
And perhaps that was the cruelest part of all.
I had not been competing with another woman.
I had been competing with a memory.
A memory he still loved too much to let go.
A memory I could never hope to replace.
And somewhere between his grief and my humiliation, I realized that I had mistaken his kindness for something more.
That perhaps, in Rafael’s eyes, I was still exactly what I had always been.
Tess’s nanny.
And despite the ring on my finger and the vows we had exchanged, I had never truly become his wife.
I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me in something physical.
The pain was small, but it reminded me I still existed in my own body, not just inside my thoughts.
A beat passed.
