Chapter 8 Are You Preparing to Leave Me?

Damian's POV

The next morning, Damian walked into the dressing room and found Elena placing several sweaters into a suitcase.

Two cardboard boxes sat beside the bed. There was no jewelry inside. None of the gifts he had given her.

Only old books, framed photographs, and clothes she had owned before their marriage.

Damian's gaze moved from the newly empty section of the closet to the apartment brochure lying on top of one of the boxes.

"You're looking for a place?"

Elena smoothed the edge of a sweater before folding it.

"I'll need somewhere to live after the birthday celebration."

He picked up the brochure. She had circled an ordinary apartment complex on the south side of the city.

"This neighborhood isn't safe at night."

"I checked the police crime reports."

Damian closed the brochure.

Then he noticed the notice canceling her driver service and the residency transfer forms open on her laptop.

Within minutes, he had already identified the security problems with the apartment and the inconvenience of the commute.

"The apartment my lawyer arranged for you has already been transferred into your name. Keep the driver too."

Just like always, a few sentences were enough for him to arrange the next stage of her life.

"I can afford to take care of you."

He said it as though it were obvious.

Elena's hand stilled inside the suitcase.

Something flickered across her face, but it was gone almost immediately. She smoothed the sweater again.

"After the divorce, I won't need you to take care of me."

To Damian, the extra compensation was simply what he owed for ending their agreement early.

Elena would accept only what had been promised in the original contract.

"I'm not living in a home you chose or riding in a car you arranged." She closed the suitcase. "After the divorce, I won't need to report my schedule to anyone."

"You never objected to any of this before."

"Before, I never said no."

"What's the difference?"

Elena looked up at him.

"You never asked."

Damian stared at her.

For two years, she had accepted his arrangements without complaint.

Only now did it occur to him that silence might never have meant agreement.

Elena zipped the suitcase and slipped the apartment brochure into her bag.

"What exactly are you preparing for?"

"To leave you."

This had been Damian's decision first.

Yet hearing the words from her made him realize that his version of divorce and her version of leaving were not the same thing.

"There are still five days."

"Which is why I need to prepare."

Elena walked past him.

When the door closed behind her, the narrow stretch of empty closet made the entire bedroom feel unfamiliar.

At eight that evening, Damian ended his meeting early and returned to the apartment.

The lights were off.

There was no dinner.

No matter how late he came home, there had always been a light left on in the kitchen.

Tonight, the dining table was empty.

Upstairs was just as quiet.

He called Elena.

No answer.

The house staff only knew she had left work that afternoon. The driver couldn't tell him where she had gone because Elena had already canceled the service.

Damian called again.

Then again.

By the time he ended the sixth unanswered call, all he had heard was the same dull ringing.

Without the driver or the shared schedule, he had no idea where his own wife was.

He stood in the dim living room and, for the first time, saw what his life might look like five days from now.

Elena would live in an apartment whose address he didn't know.

If she got sick, she wouldn't call him.

And maybe one day, another man would know what time she came home. He would remember that she drank her coffee without sugar. He would be the one holding her through thunderstorms.

A stranger would be standing where Damian had always stood.

His grip tightened around his phone.

It was after ten when he finally heard the front door open.

* * *

Elena's POV

The moment Elena stepped inside, the living room lights came on.

Damian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his tie loosened around his neck. The glass of water on the table beside him was untouched.

"Where were you?"

"I looked at two apartments after work."

He crossed the room toward her, his gaze sweeping over her as if checking for injuries before dropping to her phone.

"I called you six times."

Elena finally noticed the missed calls.

"My phone was on silent while I was viewing the apartments."

"You should at least tell me where you're going."

His voice remained controlled, but his jaw was tight.

For the first time, Elena heard something beneath the irritation.

Unease.

There had been a time when she would have given anything for that small sign that he cared.

It had come too late.

"What about five days from now?"

Damian stopped.

"Five days from now, where I go and what time I come home won't be something I need to explain to you."

"We're not there yet."

"But you expect me to accept the divorce while refusing to let me learn how to live without you."

Damian's lips parted.

Nothing came out.

Elena held his gaze.

"You can't end our marriage and still control my life."

"I'm not stopping you from getting divorced."

"You're the one who asked for the divorce."

Damian said nothing.

Elena walked past him and headed upstairs.

Her suitcase was still open in the bedroom.

She picked up the sweaters she hadn't finished packing.

Damian followed her in, took one from her hands, and placed it back in the closet.

"Elena."

She immediately took it down again.

"What else have you decided for me?"

Damian caught the closet door before she could reach inside once more.

"And after that?" His eyes locked on hers. "Who's going to take care of you?"

Elena understood what he was really asking.

"Maybe no one. Maybe someone will." She held the sweater against her chest. "Either way, it won't be your concern."

His fingers closed around her wrist.

Not hard enough to hurt.

But he didn't let go.

"Stop saying that."

"Which part? That there might be someone else? Or that it won't be your concern?"

He had no answer.

Once, Elena would have mistaken that possessiveness for proof that he couldn't bear to lose her.

But Damian could hold her as if he never wanted to let go, then place divorce papers in front of her the next morning.

"Let go."

He released her.

But he didn't step back.

They were close enough to feel each other breathe.

Damian lifted a hand toward her face, then stopped just before touching her.

"Do you want me to stop?"

This time, he left the choice to her.

Elena knew the sensible answer was yes.

She also knew that five days from now, she would still walk out of this apartment carrying the secret she hadn't told him.

But she hadn't stopped loving him yet.

Her fingers curled around his tie, pulling him closer.

"This time, I decide."

Elena kissed him first.

Damian went still for a heartbeat. Then his arm locked around her waist, and he deepened the kiss. The unease he'd held back all night finally broke through. The familiar heat of his body shattered the calm she'd fought so hard to keep.

She didn't pull away. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and she kissed him back just as hard.

Damian pulled her closer, one knee pressing between her thighs. Even through the thin fabric, the pressure against her damp heat sent a sharp jolt through her. He buried his face against her neck, his breath so hot it made her tremble.

"If you don't want this, tell me to leave." His voice was low and rough. A final warning.

She should have pushed him away. But these were their last few days under the same roof. She had loved every time he came close, and she couldn't pretend her body would forget him faster than her heart.

Instead, she dragged her tongue along his throat, tempting him to keep going.

Damian's last shred of control snapped.

He gripped her waist and lifted her against the wall, one thigh wedged between hers. Her robe fell open. His hot palm covered her breast, his thumb rubbing over her nipple. She arched her back sharply. His other hand slid down, pushed the soaked fabric aside, and his fingers found her clit, stroking back and forth.

He lowered his head, forehead against hers, his fingers slowly pushing into her wet heat.

She bit her lip, her thighs trembling.

"The divorce papers haven't been signed yet," he said, voice hoarse. The hard, heated tip of him pressed against her. When she didn't pull away, he pushed forward slowly. "For now, you're still my wife."