Chapter Four

I signed for the draft divorce agreement at my lawyer's office.

By the time I returned to the main house, the sky had darkened. The house was unnaturally quiet—only my footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Passing the master bedroom, I heard the low hum of a hair dryer from the adjoining bathroom. The door was half closed, a line of warm yellow light spilling out, along with faint steam.

I stopped.

Kelly had her back to the door. She was wearing Adair's deep-gray silk shirt—the one he wore often. On her it was far too big, the hem barely covering her upper thighs. Her black hair was wet and clung in strands to the fabric, bleeding darker patches into it.

Adair stood behind her, hair dryer in hand, head lowered. His fingers separated the wet hair at the nape of her neck while he dried it, patient and careful.

The picture had a warped kind of domestic intimacy.

The dryer drowned out my arrival.

Until Kelly turned by accident and her eyes caught my shadow outside the door.

She jerked like she'd been burned, let out a short scream, and shrank back hard—then spun and clung to Adair's waist, burying her face in his chest, trembling.

Adair lifted his head at once. When he saw it was me, his body stiffened. He shut off the dryer.

A suffocating silence filled the room.

“She was in a really bad state today,” he said. His voice was deliberately steady, but his eyes avoided mine. “She soaked in the tub for a long time. Got dizzy when she got up. Wet hair will chill her. I was just—”

“Just drying her hair,” I finished for him. My voice sounded unnaturally calm, even to me. “In my husband's and my bedroom. In my bathroom. Wearing my husband's shirt.”

“Looks like I interrupted. Next, do you need to carry her into my bed for a nap?”

“Caterina!” Adair flared instantly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Kelly lifted her head from his chest. Her eyes reddened in a blink, voice trembling with tears. “Caterina, it's not what you think… I just felt so awful. Adair was only being kind… Don't blame him, it's my fault, I'll change right now—”

She tried to let go, but Adair's hand clamped around her arm and stopped her.

He looked at me, brows drawn tight. There was no guilt—only annoyance at being disturbed and the resentment of not being understood. “Do you have to speak like that? She nearly slipped in the bathroom. I was making sure she was okay. It's just a shirt—do you really have to blow it up to this extent?”

“Just a shirt?” I stepped forward half a pace, staring at the woman behind him with only half her face visible. “Adair, that's your shirt. This is the master bath. And ‘nearly slipping' means you had to send everyone away, be here yourself, and take the time to dry every strand of her hair?”

“Because no one else can get near her!” He raised his voice, like he'd finally found the argument he wanted. “She's afraid of any stranger right now! Only me being here keeps her calm. This is a special circumstance—she has nothing left! She lives in fear every day! Can't you show even a shred of understanding? Or do you have to assume everyone is as filthy as you?”

“Who's filthy?” My voice iced over completely. “Adair—put your hand on your gun and swear: is all of this *really* only because Luca was your brother?”

His pupils tightened a fraction, like the question stung.

Right on cue, Kelly's sobbing grew louder. She clutched Adair's shirtfront, tipped her face up at him, tears spilling in strings. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry… it's all because of me… please don't fight… I'll go, I'll go right now—”

“You're not going anywhere!” Adair held her down, then snapped at me, the last bit of restraint burning into anger. “Look at her! Caterina—are you made of stone? You really can't tolerate one pitiful person?”

At that moment, Kelly seemed to lose the strength to stand. Her legs folded and she collapsed. Adair caught her on reflex. She went limp in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest, tears soaking his shirt.

“Enough, Caterina!”

He held her like fragile porcelain and looked at me with total disappointment and the ice that comes just before a rage. “Look what you've done to her. Do you have any humanity at all?”

Something in me snapped.

I stared at him holding another woman while accusing me of having no humanity.

“Pitiful? Who's pitiful?” The air reeked of his aftershave mixed with her bath gel—sickening. I shouted through the nausea. “A woman walks into my home to seduce my husband—am I not pitiful?”

“I'm supposed to watch my husband get into bed with another woman in my own house—am I not pitiful?”

“Shut up, Caterina!” Adair barked, stepping in front of her.

I didn't shut up.

I fixed my eyes on Kelly and spoke slowly, clearly, each word razor-sharp.

“Kelly, you know exactly what you're doing.”

“You get someone else's husband to ‘take responsibility' for you—what are you, a parasite?”

*Smack—!*

The sound of a slap cracked through the room.

My cheek flared with heat. A metallic taste spread across my tongue.

I turned my head, then slowly faced forward again. I licked the thin line of blood at the corner of my mouth and looked at Adair.

His hand was still suspended midair, fingers trembling slightly. The fury on his face had been replaced by a stunned, startled blankness—as if even he hadn't expected himself to actually hit me.

“Caterina… I—I just…”

“Good.” I touched my burning cheek. My voice was steady, flat, without a ripple. “That makes it clear.”

I didn't look at him again. I didn't look at the woman on the floor.

I walked out of the bathroom, turned into the bedroom, and packed my essentials fast. When I turned to leave, Adair was already in the doorway.

He saw the suitcase. Instinctively he reached as if to grab me, but I stepped aside and avoided him.

“Don't, Caterina…”

He looked like a helpless husband watching his wife walk out.

I just stared at him—hard—for several seconds, until his face tightened and darkened.

Then I said nothing. I went downstairs.

My father's black sedan had already glided to the door without a sound. The headlights cut two cold lines through the dusk.

I got in. The car started and pulled away.

In the rearview mirror, the mansion that had once been called “home” shrank quickly—then drowned in the falling night.