Page 21 of The Billionaire's Wife

I’d kept him from finding that long enough.

I reached for the papers again and forced myself to read them. It seemed standard. It wasn’t as though we had communal assets to divide. And I wasn’t going to try to get him to pay spousal support or anything like that. He didn’t owe me anything.

I probably owed him.

He was letting me off the hook for that, too.

I glanced over at the desk. There was a cup of pens sitting right there. I should sign the papers, put them back in the envelope, and slide them under his door. Then he could do whatever lawyer thing needed to be done next and we could both move on.

That was what I should do.

Instead, I folded them in half and pushed them back into the envelope and carefully pushed the brads down to hold the flap shut.

I couldn’t deal with this right now.

I also couldn’t explain why.

Divorce was obviously the right choice. It wasn’t as if there was some grand reconciliation in store for us. Tristan had made that pretty clear. He’d said he had loved me. Past tense.

Because of course it was past tense. It would be ridiculous for him to have carried some mythical torch for me for fourteen years. Not after everything I’d done to him. Especially not after that.

I blew out a breath.

Here I was, doing it to him all over again. What had I been thinking, coming here? I should leave. Just…pack up and sneak out in the middle of the night and take my chances with the cartel. If they caught me? It wasn’t as if I’d be getting anything less than I deserved.

The only problem with this plan—and it was a big one—was Tristan. I couldn’t disappear on him again. Not now that I knew how badly it had hurt him the first time. So I’d explain first.

That was the adult decision.

I nodded once and took a deep breath to steel myself, then I slipped off the bed and crossed to the door. I moved the chair, grimacing at my silliness, and turned the knob.

Tristan’s door was still shut. It didn’t necessarily mean he was in there. He could have heard me pass by and gone out into the living room. Or out into the world, for that matter. He wasn’t the one under house arrest.

I walked down the hall, not bothering to try to be silent but not stomping, and poked my head around the corner. The living room and kitchen areas were both empty.

Drat.

That meant he was in his bedroom.

My gaze flicked toward the main door. He might have left.

With a sigh, I went down the hallway and knocked briskly on his door.

I bit my lip as I waited. If he was in there, he was silent. Should I knock again?

No.

I was about to turn and head back to my room when I heard footsteps. After another few seconds, the door cracked open.

“Yeah?” His expression was unreadable. At least his eyes weren’t completely flat still.

I fought the urge to clear my throat and fidget. “I thought I’d leave. Get out of your hair. I realized—belatedly, and I’m sorry—that all I’ve done is cause you problems. You don’t need to clean up after me anymore. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have asked this of you.”

Something flickered in his eyes. I couldn’t put a name to it before it disappeared. “What about the cartel?”

I shrugged and hoped it seemed nonchalant. I was bone-deep terrified. But that was my problem. Not his. It should never have been his. “I can disappear. I know how.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why you did that instead of coming to find me.” His eyebrows lifted. “I thought you wanted to get out from under all of this? Find a way to live a normal life.”

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