Chapter
Chapter 9
Surprisingly, Dwight was the one to break the silence this time. “Sylvia…” His voice was quieter now, his usual bravado slipping away as he took a deep drag from his cigarette. “Are you hungry? I can make you some cream soup.”
I froze, the words catching me off guard.
Cream soup?
I hadn’t heard him offer to cook for me in years, and yet the memory came rushing back with startling clarity.
It was before we were married, back when I still believed that Dwight was the one. I’d been curled up in bed, sick with stomach pain so bad I could barely move. I could still remember the way the sheets twisted around me as I lay there, sweating and miserable.
And then, Dwight had come in with a bowl of steaming cream soup. He had sat on the edge of the bed, his face full of concern, and gently coaxed me to sit up. I could still feel the warmth of his arm around me as he spoon–fed me, his touch so gentle, his voice so soft. He held me like I was the most precious thing in the world.
Back then, I had thought no one would ever love me the way Dwight did. I had even defied my family to be with him, leaving behind everything I knew to run away with him. My alpha. I had been so sure he was my future.
But that was a long time ago. Since we got married, Dwight had never made that soup again. Somewhere along the way, something between us had broken, though I had pretended for so long that it hadn’t. But it had. The silence between us wasn’t just because of tonight’s argument; it was years in the making.
Dwight leaned in closer, his arms slipping around me from behind, pulling me gently against him. His chin rested on my shoulder, and I could feel his breath, hot
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Chapter 9
and humid against the side of my neck.
His presence was overwhelming, almost intoxicating, his alpha scent filling the air, thick and potent. My wolf stirred inside me, restless and eager, responding to him in a way that made my skin prickle with heat. The gland at the base of my neck tingled under the friction of his breath, and I could feel the bond between us pulling at me, urging me to submit, to let go of the fight.
“Sylvia,” Dwight murmured, his voice low and seductive, like velvet wrapping around my heart. “Stop this, please. You know I love you. You’re the one I want, always.”
He reached up and tilted my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with something I used to mistake for love. His scent was
everywhere, drowning me, making it hard to think, hard to remember why I was so angry. I felt my resolve slipping, my wolf whining for connection, for the closeness we hadn’t had in so long.
But then he asked, “You don’t love me anymore, do you?”
Something snapped inside me.
Love? How could he ask that? After everything, after the lies, the betrayals, how dare he speak of love?
I pushed against him, summoning all the strength I had left, and shoved myself out of his arms. My hand shot up before I even realized what I was doing, and I slapped him, hard, across the face.
The sound of the impact echoed inside the car, and for a moment, there was nothing but the stunned silence that followed.
“Dwight,” I said, my voice shaking with anger and disgust. “You’re disgusting.”
His hand flew to his cheek, his expression darkening, but I didn’t care. I was past caring.
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The Ex Husband’s Repre
Chapter 9
7:00 pm, Our house by Lake Crescent.
That night, we fought like we’d never fought before.
I didn’t care anymore. I was done pretending, done hoping he’d change. I couldn’t understand why he clung to this false image of love when there was nothing left
between us.
It baffled me that he couldn’t understand why I had finally woken up and decided. it was time to leave, but I didn’t have the strength to explain my feelings again.
I was done…
The next morning, I woke up to an empty house.
Dwight was gone.
The bed beside me was cold, the sheets on his side undisturbed, as if he hadn’t even bothered to sleep there. The silence in the room was suffocating. I sat up slowly, the weight of my reality pressing down on me like a lead blanket. The daylight that filtered through the curtains felt foreign, out of place in the darkness. of my thoughts.
I pressed a hand to my temple, feeling a headache beginning to form, and got up, my bare feet brushing against the cold wooden floor. The house felt bigger, emptier without him in it.
The kitchen was spotless–another sign he hadn’t been there. No coffee brewed, no lingering scent of his aftershave. Just the silence of a marriage unraveling, strand by painful strand.
Suddenly, the shrill ringing of my phone shattered the quiet, jerking me back to the present,
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The Ex–Husband’s Regret: I Sh
Chapter
I stared at the screen… It was Belinda.
