Page 176 of My Ruthless Husband

I force myself to meet his eyes, letting him see my sincerity, or at least hoping he’ll recognize it. “Yes, Damian. A friend.”

He studies me with that same unsettling calm. “Nothing more, then?” His gaze examining, watching for any hint of deception.

I hold his stare, willing him to see the truth in my eyes. The absolute truth. “Nothing more.”

But instead of relief, his gaze hardens. “Then explain why the two of you seemed so... close when I came to get you that day.”

The disbelief makes my pitch higher than necessary. “Maybe because you’re seeing things that aren’t there!” I exhale, forcing myself to steady. “If you have doubts about my loyalty, then the joke’s on you. I’ve loved you more than anyone could ever love another person. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. So don’t try to make this something it isn’t.”

His eyes darken. “When I saw you with him,” he says with barely restrained anger. “The thought of him even looking at you made me want to kill him.”

I draw in a sharp breath. “So that’s what this is? The romantic dinner, the gifts, all this because of your jealousy?”

“No. All this because I realized I want to win my wife back.”

My stomach twists, torn between hope and bitterness. “Why, Damian?” My voice drops to a whisper. “Why try to win me back when you already have me exactly where you want me.”

His hand clenches around the champagne flute and with a shattering crack, it breaks in his grip. Blood pools around his knuckles, trickling down his wrist in rivulets. I leap out of my chair, grabbing my napkin and wrapping it tightly around his hand. “Damian, what the hell?”

“It’s not enough.” His voice breaks through my panic.

“What?”

“Having you beside me isn’t enough. Not anymore. I don’t want a wife who stays out of duty or fear. I want my River—the girl who looked at me like I was her whole world without fear or restraint. The one who looked at me and didn’t see darkness lurking underneath. The woman who gave herself to me, time and time again without question, without expecting anything in return. I want her back.”

“Even when you hate my father?” A tear slips down my cheek, but I don’t move to hide it.

“Even when I hate your father.” he says, not a trace of hesitation in his voice, meeting my gaze with brutal honesty.

I look away, the words from our first night together echoing painfully in my mind. “But I wasn’t part of your plan.”

“No,” he says. “You weren’t. But now you’re my present. And my future.”

“I need to get the first aid kit.” I turn to go, but he catches my wrist with his injured hand.

“I may be doing all this to win you back,” he says. “But understand this, I am never letting you go, River.”

His words leave me breathless, my pulse hammering beneath his grip. “I want you to choose me again, River. Can you try for me?”

My voice trembles as I respond, the one question that’s haunted me for so long slipping out. “Can you tell me why you hate my dad so much?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets go of my wrist, the silence answering where his words won’t. My heart sinks, tears welling up in my eyes. I turn, brushing a hand across my wet cheeks, leaving him with that wounded silence as I walk toward the kitchen to find a first-aid kit.

Damian is finally willing to give me what I’ve always wanted—a real relationship. But even as he reaches out, he’s still holding back, leaving me with just enough to stay… but never enough totruly belong. The old River might have accepted it, even jumped at the chance and clung to the hope of a new beginning.

But the new River knows she deserves more than this half-love built on jealousy and shadows and won’t settle for anything less than everything.

Chapter Forty-Four

The morning is quiet, the cold seeping through the window glass as I pull on a pleated brown midi skirt and a beige turtleneck sweater.

Then I sit at my vanity and get ready for the day. As I finish brushing my curls, the bedroom door opens. I freeze, brush mid-air as Damian steps inside.

“Join me for breakfast?” He leans against the doorway, looking heartbreakingly handsome in a fitted black sweater that stretches across his broad shoulders and dark-wash jeans molding to his powerful thighs.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

In my defense, he’s never around in the mornings—always rushing off to work without so much as a glance, let alone sticking around long enough to invite me to share a meal. My hand lowers, brush falling to my lap as I study him.

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