The corridor is empty.
Finally.
After hours of smiling and schmoozing and pretending I’m not falling apart inside, I’ve found a moment of silence.
A pocket of darkness away from the cameras and the whispers and the endless, suffocating attention.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
My heart is still pounding.
My hands are still shaking.
I press my palms against the cool marble and try to steady my breathing.
I should have known he wouldn’t let it go.
The footsteps echo before I see him.
Sharp.
Purposeful.
The kind of footsteps that belong to a man who’s used to getting what he wants.
I open my eyes.
Elijah is standing at the end of the corridor, his silhouette cutting through the dim light like a blade.
“Hannah.”
“I told you to stay away.”
“I don’t care what you told me.”
He walks toward me.
Each step is deliberate, predatory, closing the distance between us with terrifying speed.
I should move.
I should run.
I should do anything except stand here like a deer caught in headlights.
But I don’t move.
I can’t.
My feet are rooted to the floor, my body frozen by the intensity of his gaze.
He stops in front of me.
Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
Close enough that I can see the wildness in his eyes, the desperation barely contained beneath the surface.
“Seven years,” he says.
“Seven years you’ve been gone.
Seven years I’ve been searching.”
“Searching?” I laugh.
“You didn’t search for me.
You didn’t care.”
“I didn’t know where to look.”
“Because you didn’t try.”
His jaw tightens.
“You changed your name.
You disappeared.
You made yourself impossible to find.”
“Good.” I step back, but my back hits the wall.
There’s nowhere to go.
“That was the point.”
“You think I’d let you just disappear?”
He grabs my wrist.
His grip is iron, his fingers digging into my skin with possessive intensity.
I try to pull free, but he doesn’t let go.
“You’re still my wife.”
I laugh in his face.
It’s a cold, bitter sound that echoes off the marble walls.
“The papers are signed.
We’re nothing.”
He pushes me against the wall.
Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make a point.
His body cages me in, his arms on either side of my head, his face inches from mine.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I don’t get to—” I stare at him.
“Are you serious?
You signed the papers.
You walked away.
You chose her.
You don’t get to act like I’m still yours.”
“You were always mine.” His voice is low, rough, dangerous. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Even when you left.
Even when I didn’t know where you were.
You were still mine.”
“I was never yours.” I lean in, my lips inches from his ear.
“I was never anything to you except a transaction.
A means to an end.
A blood donor.”
“Stop.”
“You used me.
You discarded me.
You made me invisible.”
I pull back and meet his eyes.
“But I’m not invisible anymore.
I’m here.
And I’m better than you’ll ever be.”
He’s frozen.
His eyes are burning, his jaw clenched, his body trembling with barely controlled emotion.
I see the war raging inside him.
The guilt.
The anger.
The desperate, consuming need that he can’t explain and can’t control.
I shove him away.
“Stay out of my way.”
I start to walk past him.
He grabs my arm again, spinning me back to face him.
“I’m not done.”
“Yes, you are.” I pull free.
“You’re done.
We’re done.
Everything is done.
There is nothing left between us except the ashes of a marriage that was never real.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t care what I believe.” I step closer to him, close enough that our chests almost touch.
“I care about what’s real.
And what’s real is that you chose her.
You chose her over me.
Over us.
Over everything.”
“It was a mistake.”
“Was it?” I laugh.
“Seven years.
Seven years of silence.
Seven years of nothing.
And now you show up and pretend you care?”
“I do care.”
“Then why didn’t you fight for me?” The words come out raw, ragged, more vulnerable than I intended.
“Why didn’t you try?
Why did you let me go without a single word?”
His eyes drop.
He can’t meet mine.
“Because I was a coward.”
“Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“You were.
And you still are.”
“I’m trying to change.”
“Too late.”
I walk away.
This time, he doesn’t stop me.
But I feel his eyes on my back.
I feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his longing, the desperate, broken need that he can’t hide.
And the worst part?
The absolute worst part?
A part of me still wants him.
A part of me still remembers what it felt like to love him. Get faster updates on g.com.
A part of me still wishes he had fought for me.
But that part is small.
That part is weak.
That part is the woman I used to be.
And I buried her a long time ago.
The corridor stretches out before me.
The party continues somewhere in the distance, the muffled sound of laughter and music filtering through the walls.
I walk faster.
I need to get away.
I need to breathe.
I need to find a place where he can’t reach me.
But there is no such place.
Not anymore.
He found me.
He knows about the twins.
He’s not going to give up.
And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to fight him forever.
Emily is waiting for me at the end of the corridor.
Her face is pale, her eyes wide.
“What happened?
I saw him follow you—”
“I handled it.”
“Did you?”
I look at her.
I see the concern in her eyes.
The worry.
The love.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“He’s not going to give up.
He knows about the twins.
He’s going to keep pushing.”
“Then we’ll push back.” She takes my hand.
“Together.”
I squeeze her fingers.
“Thank you.”
“Always.”
I take a breath.
I square my shoulders.
I smooth down my dress.
“Okay.
Let’s get back out there.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.” I manage a smile.
“But I’m not going to let him see me break.”
I walk back into the ballroom.
The lights are blinding.
The music is loud.
The crowd is still buzzing with excitement and curiosity.
I smile at the cameras.
I wave at the guests.
I play the role I’ve perfected over seven years.
But inside, I’m still shaking.
Inside, I’m still terrified.
He found me.
He knows.
And he’s not going to stop.
I don’t know what he’ll do next.
I don’t know how far he’ll go.
But I know one thing.
I’m not going down without a fight.
I’ve come too far.
I’ve built too much.
I’ve survived too much to let him destroy me now.
I won’t let him win.
I can’t.