(Xavier's POV)
The door slammed behind me before I even realized I had left her office.
My pulse was hammering too loud. My knuckles still burned from tearing those damn papers apart. Divorce papers — again. Fifth time. Fifth goddamn time.
I jabbed the elevator button harder than necessary, jaw clenching and keeping my face neutral for the curious glances of employees who wisely pretended not to notice me. The elevator doors opened with a polite chime.
I stepped in, alone, and exhaled through my teeth. The mirrored walls caught my reflection: perfectly calm, perfectly put-together — the mask of Xavier Bennett. The one I've worn for two years.
By the time I reached the parking lot, I could feel the storm building. I didn't fight it this time. I unlocked my car, climbed in, and slammed the door shut.
Then I lost it. A guttural scream ripped out of me, raw and strangled, echoing off the leather seats. My hands fisted around the steering wheel, hitting it once, twice, until my palms stung.
"Fuck!"
Silence.
I slumped back, breathing hard, staring blankly at the dashboard. My tie was slightly askew; I yanked it off, raking a hand through my hair. "Shit… Samantha…"
I shouldn't have done that — not the shouting, not the tearing. Losing my composure in front of Samantha Kingsley? That was dangerous. She would smell blood.
That smug smirk of hers, the way her green eyes sparkled when she shoved those papers at me—it had pushed me right to the edge.
I pressed my palms over my face and muttered under my breath, "Get it together, Xavier."
But how the hell was I supposed to stay calm when she looked me dead in the eye and handed me another set of divorce papers — like we hadn't stood at an altar two years ago and promised something that, for me, had actually meant something?
Because no matter how much she hated me, I couldn't bring myself to let her go.
I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling of my car. A faint smile tugged at my lips, humorless. "Congratulations, Xavier. You've officially turned into the masochist your friends warned you about." I laughed under my breath. Bitter. Self-mocking. Seriously, I've been asked for divorce more times than you've ever been asked for proposals in your life.
Why was she so desperate to get rid of me? Two years. Two years of marriage, and she had never once softened. Never once looked at me the way I looked at her.
I had always thought of myself as rational, sensible. The kind of man who didn't make emotional decisions. But then she happened — Samantha Kingsley, walking into my life in a red silk gown at my company's anniversary party two years ago.
I still remember that night when I had first met her. I couldn't take my eyes off her. We only exchanged pleasantries that night, introduced by our parents — Kingsley and Bennett, two empires pretending to merge through us. I didn't mind. In fact, I thought fate had handed me something beautiful.
And then came the proposal. The arrangement. The wedding.
A week later, she was my wife. I thought it was perfect. The merger of empires, the woman who had unknowingly stolen my attention, becoming mine.
But reality was crueler. Two years later, I am still the husband she didn't want.
And the worst part? I still didn't know why.
I've spent two years trying to understand it — the hate in her eyes, the frost in her tone. I've turned every memory inside out, searching for what I did wrong. But there's nothing. No betrayal. No lie.
Samantha just... hates me. And I can't hate her back.
I had done everything right. I had given her space, respected her choices, supported her company when her father asked me to keep an eye on things. I had never once forced myself into her world. If she wanted to live like strangers, I let her. If she wanted distance, I gave it.
And yet… she hated me.
Two years of loving her from the shadows, and never once letting myself confess the truth. Because if I told her, if I showed her—I would lose what little I had.
I slammed my palm against the steering wheel, muttering another curse. "Why, Samantha? Why the hell do you hate me so much?" I gripped the steering wheel again, "You want to be free, Samantha," I murmured to the empty car, "but what if I can't let you go?"
Because the truth was cruel — I didn't want her freedom if it meant losing her.
Samantha called me emotionless, robotic, predictable. Maybe I am. But only because the moment I stop being those things — the moment I show her what she does to me — she'll see just how much power she has.
And Samantha Kingsley shouldn't know she could destroy me with one word.
I sighed, pulling the tie loose completely and tossing it aside. My phone buzzed — her father, probably asking how the meeting went. I didn't bother answering.
How was I supposed to tell him that his brilliant daughter had just handed me divorce papers and told me I was the worst decision of her life? That the woman I love can't even look at me without flinching?
I closed my eyes, leaning my head back, breathing slowly until the rage ebbed. "Five times, Samantha," I whispered, a ghost of a smile curling on my lips. "You'll have to try harder than that."
Samantha Kingsley could rage, scream, curse, and throw her divorce papers at me a hundred times more. I would tear them every single time.
Because no matter how much she hated me…I wasn't letting her go.
I started the engine, my reflection catching again in the rearview mirror — eyes hard, mask back on. The Xavier Bennett the world saw.
And if Samantha ever saw the man who loved her enough to tear himself apart just to stay by her side — she would probably walk away for good. So I'll keep pretending. I'll keep being the man she can't stand.
Because loving her in silence is better than losing her forever.