Whatever restraint he had carried downstairs was gone now, replaced by something sharp and volatile, held together only by discipline.
The album was clenched in his hand like a weapon he was trying not to use.
His gaze flicked once—just once—toward the open pages of Zara’s photographs.
And then back to me.
That was enough.
“Of all the rooms in this house,” he said, voice calm but edged with steel, “this is the only one you are forbidden to enter.”
The air in the room tightened.
“I will overlook this once,” he continued, jaw tightening, “because you did not understand how strictly off-limits this room is.”
A dangerous pause.
“Now get out.”
The command was absolute.
But I didn’t move.
Something inside me—hurt, frustration, confusion, all tangled together—kept me rooted in place.
My gaze flicked past him briefly, back to the room, to the dresses, the photographs, the preserved fragments of a woman who still lived here more than I did.
And then back to him.
Something in me snapped.
“I would have preferred it if you’d just hired me as a nanny,” I said bitterly. “I’m tired, Rafael. Tired of this damn marriage—of one pain after another.”
My voice rose despite myself.
“Will you really live the rest of your life like this? Because this isn’t living. This is suffering.”
I swallowed, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
“And whatever guilt you think you’re carrying... she’s dead. You need to move on.”
My voice came out steadier than I expected.
But there was a tremor underneath it.
His eyes narrowed slightly, raw hurt flooding the dark depths until they glistened.
“I need to move on?” His voice came out gravel-rough, each word dragged from somewhere deep and wounded.
“I married you for Tess, yes. And because your father killed mine. Revenge was the only language I knew. But over time...” He swallowed hard, throat working. “The reason for keeping you as my wife changed. You got under my skin. You made me want things I had no right to want anymore.”
He took a step closer, towering over me.
Yet the pain in his expression cracked the armor, revealing the broken man beneath.
“But you’re too goddamn sensitive. You don’t deserve the love you keep demanding from me. A woman who can’t even begin to understand my pain—who won’t even try to share its weight—has no claim to my heart.”
“You nag. You accuse. You throw Zara in my face every time the grief rises, calling me crazy for speaking to her grave like she’s still the only one who ever truly saw me. You never sit in the dark with me. You never let my ghosts breathe. You just want the version of me that fits your fairy tale.”
