I tiptoed into the ward like I was trespassing in my own home. Every breath I took felt too loud, like even the air might piss him off.
There he was, Ryder Knox. My husband. My heartbreak.
Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back facing me, dressed in crisp white sweatpants that clung to his body like they were made for him. His back muscles moved gently with every breath he took, and for a second, I was transported back in time—back when I used to trace those lines with my fingertips and giggle when he flinched.
Now? He just made me flinch.
"Um… hi," I said, trying to clear the lump in my throat before the words cracked. My voice still came out small. Pathetic.
He didn't turn right away. He sipped from the whiskey glass in his hand, and finally, slowly, turned to face me.
Those eyes…
Once, they were my home.
Now, they were a stranger's weapon.
"Maya," he said calmly, too calmly. "I want us to have an open marriage."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Why? No, I don't want an open marriage, Ryder. What the hell are you talking about?"
He tilted his head, lips curling into that cruel smirk that used to be charming.
"I'm not asking for your validation, Maya. I'm informing you. So you're aware. That's it. You may leave."
The glass clicked on the table as he set it down, like a closing argument. Cold. Final.
"But Ryder… who are you planning to have an affair with? Please, don't tell me it's Isla."
His smirk deepened. "Lucky guess."
Something shattered in me.
"You can leave now, Maya. My mistress will be here soon."
My knees buckled, but I refused to fall. Not in front of him.
He turned away like I didn't exist.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why are you doing this to me? Why do you hate me so much? You didn't even wait to hear my side of the story…"
His jaw clenched. That thing flickered in his eyes again. , that strange look I couldn't name. Like something between guilt and nostalgia. But he blinked, and it vanished.
He scoffed. "You fooled Granny twice, Maya. You won't fool me. I know what this is, manipulation."
"Fool Granny?" I echoed, confused.
"Yes. You convinced her to pick you. To marry you into the Knox family. All so you could get your hands on our name, our property."
The words hit harder than any slap.
"Leave before I lose my mind," he said, low and threatening.
He wasn't bluffing. There was something dangerous in his voice. I backed out of the room quickly, shutting the door behind me with trembling hands.
I ran to my bedroom like I was being chased.
I couldn't breathe.
My chest was tight, my vision blurry. I paced. I stopped. I stared at the mirror, and I didn't recognize myself.
Who even was I now?
I hated what I saw. My once-soft curves now looked tired. My face, pale and stretched. I used to be a blonde bombshell. Now, I looked like I'd been drained from the inside out.
I didn't cry. I couldn't. I was past that.
Instead, I wiped my face and pulled out the deepest red lipstick I owned. I wore that black silk dress , the one Ryder used to love. The one that hugged every inch of me like a second skin. Red-bottom Louboutins clicked against the hardwood as I walked down the stairs.
Click. Click. Click.
Let him hear me. Let him see me.
But unfortunately he didn't care.
I slammed the car door, floored the gas, and drove.
I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay.
My hands were shaking on the wheel. I rolled the windows down, letting the air slap my face. Music blasted from the stereo, something fast, something angry. Something to drown the silence in my head.
I saw the neon lights from blocks away.
A bar.
Perfect.
Because if my husband could throw me away like garbage…
Then maybe I could learn how to feel again , even if it was messy. Even if it was reckless.
And this night?
I stepped into the bar, and awkwardness hit me like a slap. The lights were too dim, the music too loud, and the air too thick with perfume and cologne.
It had been so long since I came here alone. The last time, Ryder was beside me, his hand resting on my thigh, whispering flirty nonsense in my ear.
Now, I felt exposed. Raw.
Men's eyes dragged over my body the second I walked in, hungry eyes. It made my skin crawl.
But there's one…
One man who just kept staring from a distance.
I rolled my eyes.
He's probably a stripper, I told myself. The type who waits for women to throw themselves at him for a one-night thrill.
Well, he can keep staring.
Because I'm not in.
I sat down on a bar stool, pretending I didn't notice the men whispers and cocky laughter. That rich-man kind of laugh, like they already owned you.
"Glass of Henny," I told the bartender, my voice flat.
"Sure, ma'am."
I took the drink and sipped. Slowly. Letting the burn remind me I was still alive.
The music thumped around me. I swayed a little on the stool, just enough to feel something. My hips moved with the rhythm, slow and lazy.
But the heaviness? Still there. Like a rock in my chest.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I blinked. Tapped the notification.
One photo. One message.
Hi, sis.
Of course. Isla.
My heart dropped.
I opened the photo.
She was on my bed.
Wearing a red lace lingerie set that looked exactly like the one Ryder mocked me for.
Sitting on my pillow.
With my husband holding her ass like a trophy.
I froze.
No caption. Just the image. Like she knew it would destroy me without needing words.
Everything inside me snapped.
"Can I get whiskey?" I said to the bartender. "No, add it to the Hennessy. Make it a bottle."
He hesitated. "Are you sure about that, ma'am?"
"Don't question me. Just do it."
His hands shook a little as he poured.
I downed the glass in seconds. Then another. And another.
The music got louder. My thoughts fuzzier. My chest still ached, but now I didn't care.
I danced in my seat at first, then let the beat pull me up. My heels clicked against the floor as I walked toward the stage.
And then, I let go.
My hands lifted above my head, I swayed my hips rolling to the rhythm. My hair whipped around me as I danced like the world didn't exist, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I was smiling.
The people around me clapped, clearly enjoying the need I brought. I laughed as the women I'd joined on stage moved together with me like we were old friends.
Some nasty men tried grabbing my ass
I didn't even flinch.
Greedy little cunts.
Someone shouted something about tipping me. Another tried to shove money into my bra.
I moved to the edge of the stage, resting my hands on my knees as I bent forward, catching my breath.
A strand of hair fell over my face, and I pushed it back.
"You're a corpse bride, always obedient, always walked over"
"I want an opened marriage, you should have chose me instead "
Those bastards, those fucking bastards. Why? Why must I live this way?
Why must I act like their pawn?
I am fucking human. Just like them. How dare they!
"Fuck everyone" I yelled. "Crazy batards, fuck you Isla, Fuck you Ryder, fuck you all assholes".
"You need to shake it off." A deep voice said.
I blinked up, trying to focus. Everything was spinning.
The lights, the music, the people, they all blended into a blur.
My mouth was dry. My head felt heavy.
The Henny and whiskey combo was kicking in hard.
I couldn't see his face clearly.
He bent down and scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing.
Strong. Steady. Safe.
I mumbled.
"W…h…y me? Why?"
My voice was weak, slurred, barely audible.
He didn't answer.
Just carried me like I was something fragile.
I heard the bartender say, "Sir—her tab—"
"Put it on mine," the man said without pausing.
The world tilted again. My eyes closed for a second, then opened.
We were outside. I felt the night air on my skin. Cool and quiet.
Then everything faded.
The sheets were cozy.
The pillow smelled like clean linen and something masculine.
I tried to sit up, but my head throbbed.
Everything was hazy, until I saw him again.
He was standing by the door now, hands in his pockets.
My vision was still blurred.
"Go on and sleep, kitten," he said, his voice low but calm. "You're safe here."
I nodded, too tired to ask questions.
Too broken to resist kindness.
And then I let go.
Closed my eyes.
And slept.