I leave her there and drive home. The whole way back, I'm thinking about her mouth on me. Her taste. The sounds she made when she came. I don't think about my wife even once. Not until I pull into the garage and see her Audi. Inside, I find her in the kitchen. Standing at the counter, staring out at the lake, but it's like she's seeing nothing. She looks over at me when I clear my throat.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey." Her voice is flat.
Good.
"How was work?" I ask.
"Fine, but I’m beat so I’m going to go to bed.”
I know I need to feign concern. “Babe, it’s just after seven. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but I have another headache. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
She walks past me without another word. I hear her footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door closes. She’s obviously unhappy and doesn’t want to spend time with me. I stand in silence and watch her go. I feel nothing. No guilt. No regret. No sympathy.
Just satisfaction that things are unfolding the way they need to. It has to be this way so we can end it.
I needed her when we met. She doesn't know that, but I did. My father gave me until I was thirty get married or lose everything. Not just the money. The company, the legacy, the only thing that ever mattered to him. He didn't think I could do it. Didn't think I'd find someone he'd approve of.
I proved him wrong.
And though he'd conditionally approved her, based on the deep background check I had run the day after I met her, the dinner at Canlis brought it all home. She met his cruelty with grace and his tests with honesty. He treated her like shit, like he treated everyone, including me, but by the end of the night, something had shifted.
The following week, he told me I was marrying up, and I laughed. Reminded him I was worth more than a thousand Julies. He laughed in my face. Told me the money was his, not mine. That Julie had morals and character and I'd never shown either. That she was worth more than me on my best day.
It stung. But then he said he was proud of me. For the first time in my entire life, my father was proud of me. I would have done anything to keep that feeling. Anything.
Two days before the wedding, he called me into his office. Told me I'd passed the test. Found the right woman. But there was one more condition. Five years. Lock in. Be a goddamn good husband. Keep Julie happy. Do that, and he'd give me thirty percent of Ancre stock. Free and clear.
I thought it would be easy. I was high on his approval, drunk on the idea that I'd finally done something right. I think I even convinced myself I loved her. I don't know.
But then he died. And Devon told me the truth. Realizing that Julie was the reason my dad got married in the first place changed everything. Almost immediately, all the feelings I had for Julie evaporated.
We aren't compatible. She's apple pies and sunshine and I never wanted that. I can’t stand her anymore. I know that isn’t her fault. I get it. But it doesn't make it less true. I don't want to be the monster in her story, mostly because I don’t want the bad press. I just want her to view me as the guy who choked when his dad died and became an unreliable partner.
She can leave with dignity and I can move on to something that really does make me happy. So I've built this carefully. Strategically. Every move has been calculated. Every piece in place. And it's working.
I pour myself a drink and sit down at the kitchen table. Everything is happening as it needs to. I lived a dream with Devon today. It was perfect. And full freedom is so close I can almost touch it.
I raise my glass to the empty room. “Fuck you, dad.”
And then I drink.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
RYAN
The elevatorto Asher's floor is fast but somehow feels like it takes forever anyway, each ding of the passing floors grating against my raw nerves. My jaw aches from clenching it so hard I can feel the tension radiating up into my temples. I came here yesterday to have it out with him, but was told he had a family emergency and was gone for the day. I checked with Jamie. There was no family emergency. I assume it was just another lie. Who knows with him anymore. The wait might have been better though, honestly. Yesterday, I might have knocked him the fuck out.
I've been holding myself together with fraying thread ever since Julie showed up at my door two days ago, fucking shattered, telling me about the therapy session Asher had ambushed her with– and the doctor he used to do it.
I knew exactly who she meant the second the name left her mouth. Amanda fucking Reeves. The unhinged girl Asher used to fuck in college, the one Dean Stevens despised so much he threatened to cut Asher off entirely if he didn't end it. The same Amanda Reeves who apparently spent an hour yesterday tellingJulie she was the problem in her marriage, that she was too needy, too emotional, too much.
The receptionist tries to stop me when I blow past her desk, her voice trailing behind me like an afterthought I don't bother to catch. I shove Asher's door open without knocking, the heavy wood slamming against the stopper with a crack that echoes through the massive office. He's at his desk, some spreadsheet glowing on his monitor, and when he looks up, annoyance flickers across his face before he smooths it out. Fuck. He’s been like this the whole time, hasn’t he?
