Page 19 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
Oh God.
I know he didn’t exactly promise anything, but...
“That’s why I thought...what I thought.”
His jaw tightens, just that tiny tell I’ve learned to read after a decade of studying him, and hope flares.
Stupid, desperate hope.
Maybe he’ll say something.
Something that will allow me to think I haven’t wasted my life on a beautiful stranger.
But the silence stretches and stretches...while candle wax drips onto white linen, each sound a countdown to the end of us.
“Ten years,” I choke out. “And you really forgot.”
I make myself look at him. Really look. And what I see there finishes what his words started.
Nothing.
No surprise at forgetting our anniversary. No guilt for the tears sliding down my cheeks. No anger at my pain.
Just that calm, measuring gaze that makes me feel like I’m being evaluated for efficiency ratings.
Last night I’d stood before our bedroom mirror. Actually practiced. Rehearsed my surprised joy for when he finally said those three words I’d been waiting to hear. Practiced the perfect way to say “I love you too” like I haven’t whispered it to his sleeping back for ten years.
The humiliation burns through me now.
All that hope.
All that pathetic, endless hope.
“I get it now.” My voice comes from somewhere far away, somewhere already leaving this room. “I’ve been waiting for something that was never going to happen. And I just...I need it to stop hurting.”
“Then go ahead.”
Three words.
Just three words, and everything I’d built my life around dismissed like he’s approving a routine maintenance schedule.
I stumble back, and the chair scrapes marble with a sound like screaming.
Did he just—
Did my husband of ten years just tell me to leave?
Like it’s nothing?
Like I’m nothing?
I feel like breaking down when I see the look on his face.
It’s his pre-race look.
And it tells me I’ve already stopped existing for him.
God, oh God.
